Lawhead, Stephen - Pendragon Cycle 02 - Merlin by Lawhead Stephen

Author:Lawhead, Stephen [Lawhead, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781455124213
Google: r6vIBcbGv_YC
Amazon: 0310205069
Barnesnoble: 0310205069
Goodreads: 73934
Publisher: Zondervan
Published: 1988-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

Earth and Sky bear witness!

I am a man, see how I die!

See how my sword breaks forth, flashing lightning!

See how my shield dazzles like the noontide sun!

See how my arm strikes fierce judgement!

Make ready your graves, Earth!

Open wide your insatiable maw

to swallow the food I give you.

Gather your mists and clouds, Sky!

Weave your sombre vapours

to make a funeral shroud for the dead I bring you.

Hear and obey! I, Myrddin Emrys, command you!

I screamed and my scream was terrible to hear. I laughed, and my laughter was more terrible still.

Alone, I flew to meet the Saecsen host. Alone, I hurtled towards them, bereft of sense and feeling...

Insane.

The tall horsetail standard which the Saecsen carried into battle loomed before me: a cross on a pole bearing a wolfs skull on either end of the crosspiece, with a human skull in the middle, and the three fringed with horsetails of red and black. I drove straight towards the thing with the point of my sword.

I do not know what I thought, or what I intended to do. But the force of my charge was such that upon reaching the battle-line the first enemy I encountered were simply swept beneath my steed’s pummelling hooves and I was carried well into their midst as I made for the standard. The standard-bearer, a tall, muscled chieftain, dodged to the side. My blade came level and, with the momentum of my charge behind it, neatly sliced the solid pole in half, as if it had been a dry reed.

The Saecsen battlechief — an enormous brute with pale yellow hair hanging in long braids from his temples — stood beneath the standard with his House Carles around him, staring in amazement as the emblem sank like a stone. The cry of outrage reached my ears as a mild and distant sound, for I had once again entered that uncanny state where the actions of others were as languorous and slow as those of men half-asleep.

The flying, careering warhost became a massive, lumbering thing, heavy-footed and dull, without speed or quickness, overcome by a languid torpor. Once again, as in the battle at Maridunum, I became invincible, dealing death with every well-calculated blow, hewing down mighty warriors with effortless strokes, my movements perfect in their deadly grace.

The clash of battle reached my ears like the sound of water washing a far-off shore. I moved with elegant precision, striking boldly and with vengeance, my sword a living thing — a streaming crimson dragon spitting doom.

The enemy fell before me. I carved a swathe through their close ranks as if I was the scythe and they the corn standing for harvest. I struck and struck, and death fell with every stroke like judgement.

The battle surged around me. Gwendolau’s charge had succeeded in driving through the enemy the first time, but the second charge had bogged down. There were simply too many Saecsens against us, and we were too few horsemen. Even when a man killed with every stroke, as my men

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