The Greenwood And The Grail (The Arthur Quartet Book 3) by Harper Fox

Author:Harper Fox [Fox, Harper]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: FoxTales
Published: 2018-08-30T22:00:00+00:00

***

“And comfort was all it was.” Arthur peered over the edge of the ditch, then ducked as a blazing missile shot through the air an inch above his skull. “What’ve they got on those damned arrow-heads, Guy? They burn three times longer than ours.”

“Don’t know.” Guy fired off the last of his quiver and dropped back into the ditch to reload. “There’ll be plenty around for us to examine, if we live that long.”

“Aye, in the ashes of our tents and supply wagons. Quintus!” he bellowed, daring another look. “Look to your left, man!”

“Don’t shake his nerve. He knows what he’s doing.”

“I know. Him and his brother-in-law. Field promotion, indeed!” Art notched an arrow onto his bow, made the spine-twisting effort it took to get aim from a hole in the ground, and took out the horseman leading the attack to Quintus’s flank. He glanced down the line of the long culvert ditch where he and his men had dug in. Most were alive and still firing. “If Quintus can hold back the Saxons till Corio gets here with our fresh cavalry, I’m going to lead a charge and smash this uprising here and now.”

“Sounds good to me. I’m sick of being out here in the rain. But surely it was a dream, Art—this encounter of yours with Guen and Merlin in the night.”

“I keep thinking so. Praying so, because... although she was lovely, and she’d come all that way to see me, I couldn’t raise my colours for her. Not even a twitch, not to save...” He snatched up his spear and deftly pierced the roaring, axe-wielding trooper who’d tried for a leap into the ditch. Grunting, he pitched him onward and out the other side. “Whoa. Not to save his life. The curse that’s on the land is on me.”

“Well—don’t fret yourself, Bear. You were probably just tired. And the camp mead they brew up here is strong.”

“I hadn’t touched any mead.” Art had to steady his voice. Bear was a name from their shared childhood, because of Ector’s star-tale of Arcturus, and the old man’s complaint that rearing the future king of the Britons was like having a bearcub in the house. “I don’t know, Guy,” he went on miserably. “Why shouldn’t one of your boys inherit and carry on our line?”

Guy chuckled, his effort to shrug off Art’s words grim and very visible. “Why not both of ’em, indeed? Ardana claims she can tell them apart, but I can’t. But... my bairns aren’t in the line. Not Pendragon’s. Everybody knows it.”

“We only have the Merlin’s word for it that I am. Probably some baker’s wife in Kernow is still wondering what happened to the baby she left out in the garden that day.”

Guy gave a shout of laughter, then sobered. “No. Just as everyone knows my brats have no Pendragon blood, everyone knows that you do. Even without the Merlin and his tale.” He frowned at the crimson rush spilling out through the sleeve of Art’s mail shirt.

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