'H-he's been gone a long time,' Owain choked out. His lips were nearly blue. Matilda and the bard had changed his wrappings multiple times after they'd been soaked in blood.

'Hush, don't speak,' Matilda said, offering the youth a tight smile. 'He will be back soon. It really hasn't been long at all. Time moves slowly when you aren't allowed to do anything.'

'Yes,' Owain whispered, his watery gaze turning up toward the ceiling. 'I think you're right.'

Matilda glanced over at the bard, who was eyeing her. She knew the look that passed between them, the wondering whether they should take Rhys at his word. Matilda's thoughts darkened as Owain's skin paled. She worried that they had waited too long, and the shadow of death would cross over the boy regardless of whether they waited for Rhys to return, or remove him to safety.

Matilda heard her uncle pacing back and forth through the cave, his boots echoing through the chamber, marking time. Owain was right, Rhys had been gone a long while.

Matilda inhaled deeply, preparing to fight her uncle and bring Owain as close as she could to Caer Dathyl, when they all snapped their heads toward the sound of rocks tumbling down. A few of the mercenaries jumped up with a cry, drawing their swords.

'Hold!' Eadgar commanded.

Standing on a ledge of rock, was Rhys.

His clothes were torn and stained in blood, but Matilda could see no markings on him. As she drew closer, she indeed saw that he had no evidence of having survived three trials of legendary brutality. In fact, he looked so well that Matilda wondered whether this was a fever dream brought on by lack of sleep, hunger, and fear.

'Throw me a rope!' Rhys called out, his voice strong and true. 'I have found you your sword.'

Matilda could hardly suppress a whoop. He sounded so sure, so commanding, the soldiers did not hesitate to obey him. In a moment, one of them had tossed him up a sturdy length of rope. Rhys caught it and secured it to a nearby jutting rock.

'Tie Owain on and I'll hoist him up!' he said. 'I have found something that will be of help to him.'

The bard and another man lifted Owain, but Eadgar stepped in their path.

'I want to see for myself!' he said, his booming voice souring the mood.

Walking to the rope, he dropped off some of his armour, but kept his long sword girded around his waist. Matilda held her breath as she watched the rope twist and strain under his weight. Her uncle was not a young man, nor particularly thin. She silently prayed the rope would snap, and he might fall to death or unconsciousness.

But eventually, he made it to the ledge.

'Send up the boy!' he shouted.

The bard stepped forward, 'If it please you majesty, let me come up first. Then I'll help you.'

'Be quick!' Rhys said, his voice was now edged in concern, and it only took a look to understand why. Owain had closed his eyes, his chest still labouring with every breath.

The bard was a lean fellow, and made quick work of the rope. After which, the mercenaries helped tie Owain on. Matilda watched as they hoisted him up to the ledge.

'Now the maiden,' Rhys said.

Matilda felt a rush of nervousness, tinged with excitement. She hesitated before stepping forward to the rope. She flinched when a guardsman placed a hand on her shoulder. She craned her neck around to glare at Alaric.

'What say you, sire?' he asked her uncle in their own language.

Staring down at her with a dark look on his face, he simply nodded. Holding her breath, Matilda wound her hands in the rope. After a moment, Rhys and the bard began hauling her up.

Sweat trickled down her temples and she shut her eyes, willing herself not to look down.

'Almost… there…' she heard Rhys say between heavy breaths. Matilda cracked one up open, in time to see her feet dangling in mid air. Her guts went watery.

Just as she was about to scream, she felt a sure hand reach down to her.

'Here, look at me.'

Matilda lifted her quivering chin. Her eyes locked on Rhys', a brilliant blue in the darkness of the cave.

Those are the Queen's eyes, she thought to herself. They were bold and trusty and… there was something different there too she hadn't noticed before.

Wisdom, perhaps.

In that time Rhys had managed to haul her up so her fingertips were brushing the stone ledge. Reaching down, he placed his hands around her waist, helping to hoist her onto the outcrop.

They stared at one another for a moment before Matilda flung herself against him, wrapping her arms around him.

'You're alive!' she shouted into his neck. 'You're alive.'

To her surprise, he squeezed her against him. He had buried a hand in her hair, she could feeling the shakiness of his breathing.

'Your majesties,' the bard said with a cough.

She and Rhys stepped apart. He went to his younger brother, kneeling to take him in his arms. Owain's head lolled back. She watched the prince brush past her uncle, and duck under the mouth of an opening.

Matilda followed Rhys. She heard the footsteps of the bard behind her, accompanied by her uncle's heavy footfalls. They emerged into a huge vestibule, with sharp, pointed rocks hanging from the ceiling, and surging up from beneath. Matilda gasped as she looked around.

In the middle of the cave, like the beautiful animal she had only caught a glimpse of at the lake, was a magnificent sword, plunged into a smooth circle of stone.

'There it is,' the bard murmured. 'I never thought I would see it with my own eyes.'

'Fetch it, boy!' Eadgar shouted. His gruff baritone echoed off the walls. Matilda threw her hands over her head, worrying for a wild moment, that the the rocks would tumble onto their heads.

But Rhys ignored them. He began traversing a set of hewn stone stairs, which seemed to disappear into the sharp mouth of the cave.

'Rhys!' Matilda's voice was desperate. 'He is ill, let us take him to safety! The sword has been found.'

The prince did not turn around to regard her. Instead, he stepped down each rung with purpose. Owain's skin was now taking on a blue tint.

'You won't go anywhere with that boy until the sword is retrieved! Hear me!'

But even Eadgar's threat was not enough to stop him. Rhys paused, and taking a deep breath, jumped.

Matilda heard herself scream, and she covered her eyes with her hands, turning away. But instead of the sickening sound of a body hitting stone, there was only a splash.

'What?' she said, spinning around.

The floor of the cave rippled and swirled where Rhys had jumped, bringing Owain with him. The bard whooped. Her uncle stared in disbelief.

Eventually Rhys emerged, holding Owain in his arms. Watching, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, Matilda saw the youth gasping for air. Despite being ill only moments before, his face now had a rosy pink hue.

'Owain!' she shouted.

The boy treaded water, his blue eyes shining in wonderment. 'Where are we?' he asked.

'A trick,' the bard laughed. 'It was meant to trick the eye. The stones are only a reflection, how could I have not seen it before?'

'Come!' Rhys shouted. 'It's the only way to the sword.'

The bard did not hesitate, dropping off his heavy cloak. Matilda was right behind him. The water was warm, like a bath that had cooled off, and it gave her skin a pleasant tingling sensation.

'Oh,' she spluttered against the water, 'I do feel rather strange.'

Rhys began swimming toward the little island that held the sword. The rest of the little company followed, with her uncle waiting by the shoreline. More of his mercenaries began trickling in, taking in the cave around them in wonder.

When Matilda got to the ledge, she rested there a moment, pressing her cheek against the smooth stone. She watched Owain climb onto the quartz rock.

'Your wound!' she said with a gasp. 'Has it disappeared?'

Owain clapped a hand over his shoulder, looking down. 'It is but a small scar now,' he said, his voice thick with wonder.

She glanced up at Rhys, water dropping from the tip of his nose. 'Could it be real?' She asked, as he hauled her to standing. Water streamed down her body, clinging the sopping garments to her body. She put a finger in her mouth to taste it.

Rhys only laughed at her, shaking his head. Droplets shimmered like diamonds against the circle of light that shone down on them.

'The sword, boy!' Her uncle shouted, his voice carrying across the water like a swarm of flies.

Matilda grimaced, but Rhys only tucked his head in acknowledgement. She watched, they all watched, with drawn breath as the prince gripped the hilt, and began to pull. There was the soft, grating sound of the blade against stone, like a whisper.

Matilda clasped her hands together. Though she was soaked through, she was not cold.

'Finish it!' Eadgar yelled.

Rhys hesitated. 'I cannot,' he said, his brow furrowing from effort. 'It.. it is stuck.'

'Go after him!' Her uncle commanded. Matilda's stomach sank as she watched a few of the mercenaries jump into the water.

But then, something rather curious happened. Matilda watched in rapt horror as smoke began to rise from the pool.

'Don't look, Princess,' the bard said, drawing her gaze away. Matilda cringed as she heard them screaming. A smell, like burning hide, filled the cavern. Her guts twisted.

'What are you waiting for?' Eadgar cried, his voice growing desperate. 'Go after them, save them!'

'Do not condemn your men to the same fate!' The bard shouted. 'Only those worthy might enter the pool!'

'Hurry Rhys,' Matilda implored. 'Before more die.'

'I…' Rhys grunted, and the sword lifted another inch. After that, it would not budge.

After a few more moments of struggling, he looked up. 'All of you, come and help me.'

The companions all surrounded one another, shoulder to shoulder. Each fround a place to grip the sword and together heaved upward. The rest of the blade was coming now.

'Almost. There.' Owain said through gritted teeth.

'Riders approaching sire!'

Matilda glanced up to see Alaric with his sword drawn. Riders, she thought. But from where?

'Come on, one more try,' Rhys said.

With all her strength, Matilda lifted. Then there was a loud crack, and she was flung backward. The rough stone beneath her dug into her spine, and she gasped from the pain.

Blinking her eyes open, she saw Rhys standing with the hilt of the huge sword in his hand, looking quite vexed. The end of the blade was a jagged edge where there should have been a sharp point.

The sword had broken off.

Matilda felt a bubble of laugher rise up in her. Now her uncle would never use the prize he sought to destroy her homeland with. Nor would they, the companions, have a legendary sword to carry back with them.

There was a loud commotion carrying across the pond now. It was the muffled sounds of clanking armour and horses' hooves. The mercenaries had met with some other calamity.

'Bring me the broken blade!' Eadgar shouted. His voice was losing its edge. He sounded desperate, afraid. 'Honour your bargain, princeling.'

Without hesitation, Rhys stepped back into the pool. As he did so, a low groaning sound swept above them. Matilda found herself looking up. The stalectites seemed to be swaying back and forth, like bored children.

'Go!' The bard shouted. She screamed as one crashed down behind her.

Matilda swam as fast as she could, keeping her eyes trained on the opposite shore. The prince was far ahead of her, Owain just a little behind her. The pool was churning from the rocks falling from the ceiling. After what felt like an eternity, she reached the shoreline. Someone was behind her, pushing her up onto the ledge.

Turning around she helped drag Owain up.

'The sword!' her uncle shouted. 'The sword!'

Rhys held it out to him. Stones were crashing around them, and the cavern shook. The bard gripped Matilda's arm, forcing her up the steps.

'We must go!'

'Rhys!' she screamed.

A huge stalactite fell between the prince and her uncle. The sword clattered to the ground. Eadgar slipped backward, trying to regain his footing. Rhys reached out, but it was too late. He slipped over the ledge and landed screaming into the water.

The cave was collapsing around them in earnest. Small pebbles rained down over their heads, obscuring her vision. She clasped onto the bard, tucking her head, refusing to look behind her. They tumbled out to the flat piece of stone, where it had all began.

Matilda's vision was blurred. She saw mercenaries running out to the light at the mouth of the cave. There was the ringing sounds of sword on sword, shouts and curses and yells. The sounds of battle.

But only one thought crossed her mind. Craning her neck around, she saw that the entrance had been sealed off by a few large boulders.

Her heart sank.

'Oh no,' she whispered, reaching out to it.

'Rhys!' Owain yelled. He pressed himself to the stones.

Then, as though they summoned him, two of the boulders began to move. One rolled off to the side with a crash. And there, out of the darkness, with a bloody nose and two black eyes, limped the Prince of Prydain, dragging the ancient, useless blade of Belin behind him.

'You're alive!' Owain shouted, throwing his arms around his older brother. Rhys winced.

'Just about,' he coughed out. He stepped to the end of the ledge, looking down.

'It sounds like a skirmish,' the bard explained.

'Have you seen the other riders?'

The bard shook his head.

'You're bleeding,' Matilda said. She tore off the end of her wet tunic and held it up to Rhys' nose. Miraculously, the strip of rag seemed to stem the flow of blood. Owain followed suit, tearing off a piece of his shirt and holding it up to his brother's blue and purple eyes.

'Enough,' Rhys said, pushing him off. 'We need to get out of here. Who knows how long this cave will last.'

The bard was first down the rope, traversing it easily. Then Owain. Stealing herself, Matilda tied it around her waist, wringing her fingers into the stiff fibres as Rhys let her down. When the prince had joined them, he pulled the rest of the rope down.

'What's all this now?'

A slight figure, a black silhouette against the afternoon sun, stood at the entrance of the cave. It took a moment for Matilda to recognize the High Queen, for she was dressed in full battle armour, with her red gold hair secured tightly about her head in double braids.

Looking around at the companions, all breathing heavily, with worn, but happy expressions, she could only laugh.