At a tournament in England, John Ryder, a young American chess grand master, meets the wealthy and mysterious Andrew Hall. When Hall asks for Ryder's help, he reluctantly agrees and is inexorably drawn into an ancient and deadly web of intrigue.
At his estate deep in the Cotswolds, Hall claims to be a present-day Merlin and reveals that Ryder is a direct descendant of the legendary King Arthur and the holder of a mental legacy called The Gift. Ryder is skeptical until he discovers Merlin's cavern and the incredible treasures it conceals. He is introduced to four ruthless men who will train him in the art of war. He also meets Hall's enchanting daughter Katherine. However, any possible relationship between them is forbidden. It had happened once, long ago, and almost destroyed the House of Arthur.
Ryder's adventures take him to Germany, the bombing of a U.S. military installation, the kidnapping of a colleague's children, then to Florida, and finally back to England for a final brutal confrontation with a power greater than his own.
Standing alone in the center of the cavern was a round table. Suddenly, he knew. Somehow--he had always known. Ryder turned to bombard Hall with questions, but the man had vanished.
Like a moth to the flame, Ryder approached the table. It was massive, its true size lost in the vast chamber. He looked at the names carved deeply into the thick, dark wood. Some were different from what they were called now, but he recognized them all. Percivale. Tristram. Launcelot.
Ryder again looked around, but he was still alone. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was how he knew these things.
On the far side of the table, nearest the altar, was a final name. Arthur. Ryder ran his fingers over the letters worn smooth by the centuries, his thoughts racing.
Reluctantly, he turned his back to the table and looked up at the altar. Steps chiseled out of the native rock led to the platform on which the altar stood. Behind it, on the roughhewn wall, hung a tapestry, different from all the others. It was of a woodland scene, a large tree in the foreground.
Ryder slowly mounted the steps. A scarlet and gold cloth covered the top of the altar, on which lay a sword. The hilt wasn't encrusted with jewels, there was nothing written on the blade but, from the far reaches of buried time, Excalibur seemed to whisper to him--believe.
As Ryder straightened up again, the tapestry caught his eye. He went around behind the altar for a closer look. It seemed incredibly old, though parts of it might have been newer than others. He realized that the leaves of the tree were not leaves at all, but names.
Those nearest the trunk were blurred and faded, but farther out along the branches the colors were brighter and clearer. On the tip of a branch almost touching the ground with the weight of years, was a date, above which, newly stitched into the fabric of the tapestry, was the name "John Ryder."
Suddenly, Ryder realized he was no longer alone. On the other side of the altar stood a cowled figure in a long brown robe. It held Excalibur, blade cradled in the crook of its left arm.
Contact the Author: diffin@thesilentcall.info
Cover Illustration by: Duncan Long