I glared at Lancelot and bit down on a totally unhelpful sarcastic comment. I had to think — what would Merlin do? The druid had said that part of the magic is willing it to happen. I drew back to inspect the shrine, hoping to see how I could force my will upon it. The stone shrine sat upon a slab of polished marble, which aided its ability to slide. Then I saw the problem. A hand-sized piece of shale had somehow gotten wedged between the marble and the granite shrine.
“There,” I said, pointing. “That stone is why the shine won’t move. Get that wedge out!”
Bedivere kicked at the offending stone, but it held fast. Sounds of the approaching enemy grew closer. Lancelot swung his sword at the shale wedge and sent it flying. The shrine then slid aside with ease.
“Braden,” I said to the Pict. “There are torches in the tunnel. Take the horses in. We’ll guard your back. Don’t wait for us.”