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Slivers of moonlight shone through the thick canopy of trees.

Tristan and Esclados waited in the darkness of the dense forest until the warriors of the Tribe of Dana were in position, surrounding the dwarf Bédalis’ unsuspecting men.

The two knights donned their long, dark cloaks and assumed the hunched backs of elderly pilgrims, slowly approaching the sacred Fountain of Barenton.

A clearing stood in the heart of the dense forest, illuminated by the moon and starlight above. An owl hooted in the distance. Twigs snapped and leaves rustled as the horses waited impatiently in the thick woods.

Tristan spotted a low wall, composed of dozens of smooth stones, encasing a hole in the forested ground.

Water from an underground spring gurgled and bubbled, forming a fountain which pooled into the stone-enclosed well.

He observed the sacred pine tree behind the well, with the golden basin hanging from a low-lying branch.

His heart pounding with adrenaline, Tristan slowly lowered himself onto the smooth, sacred stone named for the famed archdruid.

Staring into the blue eye of the sea raven, he kissed the ring upon his left hand.

Tristan’s muscles quivered with anticipation. He watched Esclados retrieve the golden basin from the sacred pine tree and fill it with water from the spring. No one questioned them, and soon Tristan slowly stood and tottered towards the fountain, as if to quench his thirst.

Esclados cautiously poured three drops of the sacred water onto Merlin’s stone.

Instantly, a whirlwind arose, as if a cyclone encompassed the entire clearing.

Though it was already dark, what little moonlight had been visible was now totally obscured by ominous clouds that rumbled with thunder.

A current sizzled through the night air.

Lightning flashed as a furious wind whipped the trees.

Hailstones the size of walnuts began falling from the sky, clattering onto the branches of trees and the stones near the well.

Amid sudden shrieks and shouts, the sound of metal clashing announced the beginning of the onslaught.

Tristan and Esclados cast aside their cloaks, uncovering their armor, as Kirus and his men rode into the clearing with the two horses.

The two knights quickly mounted and raced through the forest to the Chateau de Landuc.

Esclados led the Tribe to the front entrance, where the lowered drawbridge indicated the castle had been breached.

Two dozen knights were valiantly defending the besieged entry, but were being pushed back, outnumbered by Bédalis’ men.

Swords clashed; the shrieks of dying men tore through the dark forest, illuminated by flashes of lightning as hail pummeled metal helmets and shields.

Gale force winds battered the heavy branches of oaks as torrents of rain fell in buckets from the black sky.

The Red Knight and Tristan engaged the dwarf’s army from the front, while Kirus and the Tribe surrounded the enemy from behind.

Tristan blocked a thrust, dodged another strike, landing a fatal blow just as he saw the dwarf Bédalis run into the castle on foot.

Quickly dismounting, Tristan raced to follow, his sword drawn, his shield up.

Inside the castle, he heard Laudine scream just as he caught sight of the dwarf’s lunge.

He barely managed to deflect the sword, which gouged his cheek with the tip of the blade.

Recovering quickly, Tristan launched a barrage of strikes in quick succession, overwhelming the frantic dwarf.

With one final massive blow, Tristan cleaved his sword into the side of Bédalis’ neck at the shoulder, nearly decapitating him.

He quickly removed his bloodied blade, ran up the stairs, and found a trembling Laudine huddled with her frightened attendants, desperately clutching each other behind an overturned chair.

Her face was streaked with grime, but she nodded to Tristan, who raced down the hall.

He ran into the remaining chambers, finding more terrified servants but no attacking knights. He flew down the stairs and tore through the castle but found only his fellow members of the Tribe defending the front entrance, their massive swords drawn, their gruesome faces bloodied.

Outside, the storm had stopped. Amid puddles of mud and blood, dozens of slain enemy bodies were scattered across the castle grounds.

Tristan stood at the entrance of Landuc as Lancelot rode up from the north.

Judoc—Lancelot’s First Knight of la Joyeuse Garde —and his men approached from the south.

Agrane—Esclados’ First Knight of Landuc—returned from the rear of the chateau .

On every face, Tristan saw savage grins of victory, tempered by the pain of loss.

They had liberated the castle, freed Laudine, yet several of their brothers had fallen in battle.

Tristan’s blood pounded in his ears as battle frenzy surged in his veins.

The copper tang of blood assailed his nostrils as he wiped the flow oozing down his face from the bite of the dwarf’s treacherous sword.

Lancelot dismounted and beckoned for the leaders to follow him into the castle.

Esclados tore up the stairs, threw his arms around his wife, showering her with kisses as she sobbed onto his chest. He helped her to her feet, and she leaned against him as they came downstairs to join Lancelot and Tristan in the Great Hall.

“Report?” Lancelot inquired of each of his commanders. Judoc replied first. “None escaped. We lost four, with two wounded.” He nodded to an area across the room where Laudine and her priestesses were tending to the injured, washing off blood and grime, herbal remedies in hand.

Agrane responded next. “We lost two men. Several wounded.” He turned to Esclados. “We recovered about three dozen horses from the dwarf’s men.” A grin spread across his bloodied face. “A good addition to the stables of Landuc.”

Lancelot questioned Kirus. “And the Tribe?”

The lead warrior of the Tribe of Dana said proudly, “We lost none. And none injured.” His brilliant eyes blazed with triumph.

Lancelot reported the loss of one man, with three wounded.

He then ordered quietly, “Bring the bodies of our seven fallen knights into the Great Hall. Cover them with sacred cloth. Tomorrow, we’ll bury them near the sacred stones.

And honor their sacrifice.” Several knights rose at once, exiting in solemn silence.

Laudine and four priestesses of the Tribe of Dana had set up a makeshift hospital in the Great Hall where the wounded were being carefully laid onto cots quickly set up by servants.

With the sacred, curative waters of the fountain and the medicinal herbs of the Forest of Brocéliande, the guérisseuses tended the battered knights who had been injured defending the castle.

Laudine came over to Tristan to treat the gouge on his cheek and clean the dried blood from his filthy face.

With a soft cloth and a basin of water from the sacred spring, she gently washed his face with herbal soap and applied a soothing ointment over his wound.

She whispered in his ear, “It is not deep. This salve will aid healing and prevent it from festering.” She quietly rejoined her priestesses to care for the rest of the wounded.

Tristan sat down upon the floor of the Great Hall beside many of his fellow knights.

Faces were streaked with blood and grime; everyone was drenched from the storm.

Despite the injuries, he saw the savage thrill of victory on the battered, brutal faces all around him.

Lancelot’s commanding voice carried across the heads of the knights and warriors of the Tribe of Dana leaning against the sturdy walls of the Castle of Landuc.

“Tomorrow, our fallen knights receive the sacred burial. We burn the bodies of the enemy.” Heads bowed in remembrance of those who had fallen.

Tristan observed the men around him. Some cleaned their bloodied weapons, others nursed painful wounds. All were listening intently, their eyes fixed on Lancelot. Their revered leader.

“Each one of you displayed courage and valor tonight in defending Landuc.” Lancelot walked through the men, his eyes glowing with respect, pride, and honor.

“Victory is ours. May the Goddess be praised!” Cheers rippled through the ragged voices of the bloodied men.

Swords frapped against shields, the savage applause of warriors. A thrill rushed up Tristan’s spine.

“We liberated Laudine. Defended Landuc. Protected the sacred Fountain of Barenton.”

Lancelot met the shining eyes of his valiant men. “Victory is ours because of your prowess. Your courage. Your skill. Men, I salute you.” White teeth shone in the dim firelight, faces alight with honor and respect.

Lancelot turned to the First Knight of Landuc.

“Agrane, take my men to join yours in the knights’ lodge.

” To his own men, he directed, “Sir Agrane will lead you to the knights’ lodge, which can accommodate one hundred.

There are cots and bedding for everyone.

In the morning, we honor our fallen. For now, go and rest. May the Goddess bless you all. Good night, men. Well done!”

The knights gathered their weapons and followed Agrane across the courtyard to the lodge near the stables. Tristan saw Lancelot and Esclados conferring quietly with the Tribe of Dana in a far corner of the Great Hall.

Once the knights had left, and the wounded soldiers were resting peacefully, Laudine and her four priestesses joined Lancelot and the Tribe. Esclados motioned for Tristan to approach. He rose to his feet, a new thrill surging through him.

“Tristan, tonight you valiantly defended the castle of Landuc. You slew the infamous dwarf Bédalis. And protected the sacred Fountain of Barenton.” The Red Knight nodded to the other members of the Tribe of Dana, including Lancelot.

“Because of the valor you showed in defending the sacred realm of the Goddess, we invite you to join us. To become a member of the Tribe of Dana. What say you, Blue Knight of Cornwall?”

Tristan was speechless. Lancelot flashed him the familiar boyish grin, encouragement shining in his proud eyes.

“It would be my greatest honor to join the Tribe of Dana,” Tristan stammered. “I humbly thank you, Lord Esclados!”

The Red Knight responded with a hearty grin. “Excellent! Tomorrow we honor our fallen with a tribute and sacred burial. We burn the bodies of the enemy. Once night has fallen, we will conduct your initiation ceremony in the clearing. Where we summoned the storm.”

A gleam twinkled in Esclados’ expressive dark eyes. “And Tristan, as a reward for rescuing my wife, the Lady of the Fountain. For your valor in defending the sacred element of water —I will present you an additional, most precious gift. Which you will receive in a special ceremony tomorrow night.”

Tristan beamed as Lord Esclados slapped him heartily upon the shoulders.

The Red Knight then turned to the members of the Tribe of Dana.

“Fellow warriors, allow my servants to escort you to our guest chambers. You all fought heroically tonight. We defended the sacred fountain…and the sacred Forest of Brocéliande. The Goddess Dana is most pleased with Her tribe.”

With a nod to Tristan, he announced to the men, “Tomorrow, we induct a new member, with the traditional ceremony in the sacred forest.”

The dark, burly Lord Esclados turned to his wife and placed an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a warm hug. As the servants ushered the Tribe members to their chambers, the Red Knight said in parting, “Good night, everyone. Sleep well.”

Tristan bid good night to Esclados, Laudine, and Lancelot, following a servant to his guest room. He disrobed, washed the grime from his body, and curled into the comfortable bed, his mind racing, reliving the thrilling events of the tumultuous day.

He’d defended the castle and had single-handedly defeated that damned dwarf Bédalis. He’d saved Laudine and her priestesses and had helped Esclados invoke the storm. The divine power of the Goddess.

And now, I will become a member of the Tribe of Dana.

As he drifted off to sleep, Tristan of Lyonesse felt a true sense of belonging. A camaraderie here in the Forest of Brocéliande. A sacred brotherhood to fill the bitter emptiness inside his savage soul.