The Lion of Wales by Sarah Woodbury

Author:Sarah Woodbury
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Wales, king arthur, myth, magic, legend, medieval, middle ages, merlin
Publisher: The Morgan-Stanwood Publishing Group
Published: 2017-01-14T00:00:00+00:00

Can you not sense the turmoil amongst the oaks?

Do you not see the path of wind and rain?

And that the world is ending?

Cold my heart in a fearful breast

For the lion of Wales, that oaken door

our warlord, our dragon-king

Our Arthur ... is dead.

EXHAUSTED AND SPENT, knowing he’d done his best, and it hadn’t been enough, Myrddin wept over the fallen body of Arthur ap Uther, his lord, and the last hope of his people.

Chapter Ten

12 December 537 AD

HIGH IN THE MOUNTAINS to the northwest of Buellt, with the snow up to Cadfarch’s knees, Myrddin stumbled towards the Welsh camp, drawn by the smoke and firelight. He’d buried King Arthur’s headless body as best he could—but with the dark and no tools, only his ragged and bleeding nails, and the clouds blotting out the stars and moon, the body was more under rock and brush than earth.

It had taken far longer than Myrddin had wanted. Once he’d finished, he’d given Cadfarch his head, merely directing him west towards what he hoped were the remains of Arthur’s camp. Arthur’s men might face a battle tomorrow that they could easily lose, now that they had no king to lead them.

And after that, if Myrddin survived the battle, he had to find Nell and Huw. They needed to decide what they were going to do next: if they were going to stay in Wales and live as best they could, or walk away. Or maybe die where they lay. The part of him that refused to surrender, that held onto hope amidst the desolation, died a little inside with every step that led him farther away from them. With so many dead, his family was the only thing that mattered anymore.

Myrddin had just reached the first of the outer sentries, posted some two hundred yards from the camp, when a voice from behind hailed him. “My lord!”

Wearily, Myrddin swung around, every muscle protesting even that slight movement. Cedric’s men, torches lighting up the forest, rode towards him. In response, the sentry beside Myrddin raised his pike. It was a brave stance, though what he thought two men could do against a company of soldiers Myrddin couldn’t guess.

Myrddin raised a hand to Godric, the young captain, while reassuring the sentry. “They are friends.”

Godric began speaking before he’d come to a halt. “We’ve just come from the church. I’m sorry. We were too late. We were lost for hours and ended up miles out of our way. The snow—” he broke off at Myrddin’s look, knowing as Myrddin did that excuses were merely that, when the price of failure was the loss of a king and a country. If the blizzard had not delayed them, these twenty men could have been enough to change the course of history.

“Come,” Myrddin said. “I was too late as well.”

Myrddin turned from Godric, gave the sentry a nod, and led the company the short distance through the woods to the camp. If he’d had the energy to think on it,

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