Grail by Stephen R. Lawhead

Author:Stephen R. Lawhead
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780061803918
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“How do I know?”

He hurried on, so I concerned myself with saddling my horse and arming myself. I had just strapped a sword to my hip and got hold of a spear when Rhys’ hunting horn called us to be mounted. I swung into the saddle and saw Arthur across the yard, his face set in that expression I have come to know well: the serene, unhurried calm of a skilled craftsman assembling the tools of his trade. Unlike other men when riding into battle, the Pendragon becomes more himself rather than less.

Even-tempered by nature, in a fight Arthur is never uneasy or alarmed, never worried or distressed, never fear-fraught nor less yet unnerved. Myrddin has said that he believes Arthur truly lives only in the fight. “Many warriors live to fight,” Myrddin told me once, “but Arthur comes alive in battle—the way an eagle only comes alive when it takes flight.”

“He is courageous,” I agreed.

“What is courage but the mastery of fear?” said the Wise Emrys. “But there is no fear in Arthur. Tell me, does the eagle fear the wind that frees him to fly?”

Well, the Eagle of Britain was ready to soar, and those who recognized the sight knew well what it meant.

We rode through the gate and pounded onto the winding Tor path in the dark—there must have been fifty or more men clattering down the hillside at Arthur’s back. Gaining the lakeside path, we flew past the monastery, scrambled over the lowland, and made directly for Shrine Hill, where we found the place in chaos.

People were stumbling around in the darkness, for the moon had set and dawn had not yet come, and they were shouting at one another; the women were wailing and children were crying, but I could not see what had happened to cause such distress. There was a crush of confusion at the foot of Shrine Hill; Rhys gave forth blast after blast on the horn, and we forced our way through the clinging throng and rode for the hilltop.

The shrine itself was peacefully quiet, and we swiftly discovered why: the warriors charged with guarding the shrine were dead. They lay on the steps leading to the entrance to the shrine where they had fallen. All had been attacked with a sword and suffered horrific wounds—several had lost limbs, and one had been decapitated.

Arthur took one look at the carnage and said, “Who had the watch tonight?” His voice was tight, as if he were speaking with immense difficulty.

“Llenlleawg,” I answered.

Without another word, the king turned and mounted the steps to the shrine. He stepped inside, only to emerge a moment later, his face frozen in a rictus of shock and dismay.

“Arthur?” said Bedwyr as the king strode past. “Is he inside?”

But the king made no reply and, without so much as a backward glance, walked back down the hill.

Seizing a torch from the hand of a nearby warrior, Bedwyr dashed to the entrance of the shrine. “Well?” Cador shouted at him.

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