The Dragon's Tale: Book Two in the Arthur Trilogy by Harper Fox

Author:Harper Fox [Fox, Harper]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: FoxTales
Published: 2017-12-20T18:30:00+00:00

The stream ran down past the ruins of a decaying Roman camp. Even half buried in turf, its lines were recognisable to Lance, who had grown up among just such order, such concise locking of wall to wall. He approved its position, too, on a small rise of land, commanding wide views over the moor. Defensible. Deciding it was safe to relax, he sat down at the foot of a wall and opened up his saddlebag.

Art returned from the stream, leading the two horses. “What is that? Not the food we packed up at the castle this morning?”

“You didn’t give anyone time to eat it. Including yourself.”

“Oh.” Frowning, Art unfastened his own pack. “Of course. God, Lance—I really have been outside of myself.”

“Well, get back in and eat.”

They sat together in a silence that became easier as it extended, passing back and forth between them the flagons of wine and water, listening to the wind. The food seemed to restore Art to his mortal, loving self, and he suddenly let his weight rest against Lance’s shoulder. “Do you think they’ll forgive me for today?” he asked roughly. “The soldiers? My own knights?”

Lance shrugged. “From what I could see, they were impressed. Decisive action in enemy territory. Ruthless pursuit of your prey.” He paused. “The only thing they wouldn’t forgive is your premature death, Art. We have to keep you alive, you know—for your future wife and the kingdom.”

The words were serious, but he’d let a faint gleam of laughter rise to touch his voice. Art shook his head. “My future wife, who’s supposed to rise up out of the very earth to greet me? I’m starting to think that must be bollocks, Lance, Merlin or no Merlin.”

“Do you ever hear from Ireland—from Modron, I mean, about your son?”

“Not a word. But I didn’t expect to. I can’t acknowledge him, not the way things are now, and Modron—my half-sister, after all—will have no small ideas about her own royal blood, and his. It’s a mess.”

It sounded very much as if it was going to be. “You said the boy was healthy, for all your blood and Modron’s is close. Why shouldn’t you bring him forward?”

“Most of my so-called kingdom is Christian now.” He lifted a hand to his breastbone, as if seeking something there. “They’d never accept a bastard, especially not a halfling got at a Beltane fire.”

“Then a lawful heir it must be.”

“It must. And thanks to you, I stand a chance of begetting one.”

The gleam of laughter became definite. “Not on your own.”

“No. I swear to God, though, Lance, if I could lay you down here and do it with you, I would.”

Tears stung Lance’s eyes. He laid a hand on top of Art’s. “Where is the sign you used to wear—the solar disk, with the moon on the reverse?”

“Torn off me in battle. The priest gave me a cross to wear in its stead, but there must have been an impurity in the gold. Brought me out in a rash.

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