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ARTHURS
BLADE
Book 1 of The Pendragon Spiral
Robert Treskillard
PROLOGUE
SHACKLES OF THE PAST
Lake Dosmurtanlyn near the village of Bosventor,
Kernow, in southwestern Britain
Spring, In the year of our Lord, 493
The scales upon Gwevians back shivered when she sensed the
werewolf rushing past her lake. She had been warned in a
prophetic dream many years beforeand now her doom had
finally come. She swam out of the cave that was her home at the
bottom of the lake. Surfacing just the tip of her nose among the
lily pads and sedge grasses, she sniffedand smelled blood.
Its salty tang stung her nose; many men had died this night,
more would yet die, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Rising further from the water she saw the lifeless eyes of a warrior
staring back at her. Hed fallen on the very edge of the lake and
the blood from a rip in his throat leaked down onto the black,
drought-stricken heath.
And if the prophecy were true, then it foretold that this
werewolf would battle Arthur, her son Merlin, and their warriors.
Fear drove her forth. She had to know if Merlin was safe. The
werewolf was headed toward the village, so in a flash, as was her
power, she changed herself into a small salmon and slipped into a
cleft at the side of the lake where a tiny spring flowed. The cold
water numbed her as she swam furiously against the current, and
soon she was deep into a network of water-filled caverns under
the earth. She knew the way to the village brook, having
discovered the path years before, and quickly found herself in the
cool waters of the spring that emptied near the southern sheepfold of the village. When she changed back to her human-like
form the water she breathed in and out tasted of peat.
Hurrying downstream she came upon a stand of bulrushes, and
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looking through them to the village green, she saw her doomthe
Druid Stone, which still sat upon the old granite slab.
This was the very Stone that had stolen her from her family
that fateful night thirty years ago when she was boating on the
lake with her husband. A storm had surprised them and lightning
had shattered their little coracle. She had been pulled down to the
depths by the power of the Stone and changed. All presumed her
drowned, and she had never seen Merlin again until fourteen years
later when the Stone had been removed from beside the lake by
Mrganthu and his druidsthey who used its power to enchant
the villagers.
Yes the very Stone upon which High King Uther had been
slain, he who had been Arthurs father. This was the Stone that
Merlin had attempted to destroy by hammering a sword into it. A
power emanated from its surface, lurking inside somehow, and she
still did not understand it.
Pushing the reeds aside, she looked more closely. The Stone
lay upon the granite slab in the village green. Arthur and the
werewolf were fighting next to it, and Arthur was knocked to his
knees. He stabbed upward at the beast with his spear, but the
creature was maddened by many wounds and snatched at the
wood just below the tip. He then shattered the spear and flung the
deadly metal into the darkness.
Arthur found his feet, threw the useless handle at the
werewolf, and then backed to the other side of the Druid Stone to
escape the swinging claws. The sword stood between them now,
wedged deeply into the Stone just as it had been for the last
sixteen years. A strange look came over Arthurs face as he beheld
the magnificence of the blade: the bronze hilt and pommel shone
golden in the moonlight, and the red glass inlays glinted like
blood.
In desperation, and without any other weapon, Arthur reached
out, took hold of the hilt, and pulled. The werewolf paused,
confused by the blue glow emanating from the Druid Stone.
Arthur pulled again, harder, and the sword slid upward a little.
Howling now, the werewolf lunged forward and struck out.
Arthur dodged to the side, but kept one hand on the pommel.
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If she had only known all this, then she might have stopped
Arthur from drawing his fathers sword from the Stone. But the
true secret of the Stone had been kept even from her.
She held her mouth shut tightly against the urge to scream as
she began to swim upstream.
Gripping rocks. Pulling. Kicking with her tail. Fighting panic.
Bile burning her throat.
When she reached the spring, she painfully changed back to a
salmon for the journey underground, and then after arriving at her
lake, she changed back to herself again and wept. But the pain
overwhelmed her, and she blacked out, floating, until a voice
spoke to her from the darkness.
Low. Menacing. It was the white dragon.
Thou hast escaped serving me while the sword was impaled
through the shell of my imprisonmentbut now I am free! And
when I choose a new servant, you will die, and I will eat thy
flesh.
Translucent shackles appeared before her spirits eyes.
No-o-o! she screamed, kicking and trying to break free from
the dragons grip. She had worn these shackles for too many
years.
The dragon cut her words short by ripping at her spirit and
then latching the shackles on her wrists and ankles.
Silence!
She curled up, weeping. The shackles were not visible to her
human-like eyes, but they bit into her flesh nonetheless. Yes, her
suffering had overtaken her again, yet a spark of hope remained
deep in her soul: She had tasted freedom once, and now knew it
was possible to break free. Even if she should suffer, then perhaps
Arthurs deeds might shine all the brighter and the future people
of Britain might look to him whenever they needed hope and
strength.
This was enough for her, giving meaning to her own suffering
and it was for her glory, too even if she were to be cast off and
slain by the dragon.
As she sunk into the depths of the lake, another vision took
her. Gwevian saw amidst the dark fog a white ship, magnificent of
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sail, and upon its deck stood three queens crowned with silver
circlets, simple and pure. They carried shining lights and together
chanted a lament, their voices carrying over the water, clear but
sad:
Alas, alas, we shout and call,
The dragons cast a blackened shawl.
The light, the light, is dim and small,
And doom has come to one and all
PART ONE
DRAGONS PLOY
Sick of swamp slime, the sides becoming
Crack of grey ghost, the white door splitting
Foul of corpse rot, the dark smell choking
Thirst of hell spawn, the gore teeth clicking
Dark in cave, there the beast revives
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CHAPTER 1
THE DANCE
The village of Dinas Camlin near the mouth of the river Camel,
Kernow, in southwestern Britain
Spring, in the year of our Lord, 493
The dance clopped along and Arthur tried not to trip over his own
feet, a rather difficult task even without his heart in his throat and
Gwenivere dancing closer. She held out her sash like the others
ladies of the inner circle. Arthur, in the outer circle of men, danced
in the opposite direction toward her, making plans to grab onto her
sash and so claim her as his partner.
The watching crowd swayed and clapped to the beat of the
tabor drum, nearly drowning out the box-fiddles and whistleflutes. The bagpipers, however, had no trouble being heard, and
their rich strains floated over the open square of the village,
spurring on the dancers as their shadows swirled and gallopped in
the torchlight.
What a feast and what a dance! Arthur smiled. This was all in
celebration of his coronation. Now if he could just dance with
Gwenivere
Two hops forward, then the spin. Arthur feinted toward
another ladys sash, purposely missing as she playfully yanked it
away.
Gwenivere was closer now, twirling left, stepping right. Her
sash was in reach!
Arthur reached outslowly at first to gauge the angle and
motion of her handand then swiftly, trying to catch her by
surprise before she could snatch it away.
Then the tip of his boot caught on a rock jutting from the
ground.
Arthur fell sideways, reaching for the sash. His fingers closed
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around the soft linen but it flitted away like a ghost and was gone.
His shoulder hit the ground hard, jarring his neck. The dancer
behind him tripped on Arthurs calf, caught his balance, and
danced on. The next one jumped over as Arthur swung out of
harms way. By the time he could pull himself up and dust off, he
had lost his place and had to take another openingand there
were many since half of the men had caught their partner and had
swiveled to the inside of the ring.
By the time Gwenivere came around again, she had a partner,
some urchin of a fellow with oil stains on his tunic, a thin beard,
and even thinner arms. The two promenaded past him, and
Gweniveres beautiful smile shone in the flickering torchlight.
Why? Why had Arthur tripped? If hed only
But at least it wasnt his false-friend Cullan. That insolent man
had taken a liking to Gwenivere and seemed to guard her like a
dog drooling over a bowl of stew.
But it was too late now and everyone had paired off except
one old lady who waved her sash at him, grabbed his arm, and
spun him to the inside of the ring, practically against his will.
Ah, yer a tough one to catch, she said, smiling. Her front
teeth were missing and she squinted at him, nearly blind in the
darkness. But oh, could she dance, and she knew all the steps. Up
and down her legs pumped, guiding Arthur through the unfamiliar
Kernow dance. Sometimes the sash was low, held between them,
and sometimes high to let another pair of dancers pass through.
On and on it seemed to go: step after mis-step, sash up, sash
down, promenade, spinhe going the wrong way of course. And
the whole time Arthur only caught one clear glance of Gwenivere,
her fair locks flying past him in the never ending jostle of feet.
When it was over everyone clapped and hooted while Arthur
caught his breath.
Gwalahad came and patted him on the back. A good try for
your first Kernow dance, eh? He was grinning at Arthur, his face
flushed beneath his sandy white hair.
Itd be a lot easier if it wasnt so fast.
That was my great-aunt you were dancin with shes one
o the best!
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turned away, vowing once again that until the day of his death he
would never forget the cruelty of her words.
Why? Why couldnt they at least be friends? Oh, but he
wanted more than thatmuch moreand this argument with her
not only intensified his feelings, but it made him feel stupid and
shameful. Maybe he was responsible for her fathers death.
Wasnt the king always responsible? This burden crushed down
upon him, sucking the strength from his lungs so that he could
hardly breathe.
He hung his head and closed his eyes, fighting the frustration
and anger that rose up from his gut and threatened to strangle his
throat.
A man yelled.
ARTHUR! above you!
He looked up and saw the dim silhouette of a curved bow on a
crennig rooftop, with a shadowy figure behind it.
There was the muted snap of a bow string and Arthur saw an
arrow of death speeding toward his heart.
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CHAPTER 2
THE ASSASSIN
With the arrow flying at him, Arthur twisted to the side just
enough for the shaft to miss and bury itself into the ground behind
him.
But this archer was fast, and almost instantly another
arrow was flung from the bow and raced toward him. To his left,
someone began to yell.
Arthur tried to duck, but found himself only falling backward,
still in the path of the arrow glinting through the darkness. With
no armor to protect him, he instinctively stiffened for the coming
blow. And just as the deadly blur of the arrow drew near, someone
thrust their hand in the way. It was Gwalahad, his long whitish
hair shining like a beacon as the man desperately tried to protect
Arthur.
The razored tip ripped through the mans palm and didnt stop
until it pierced Arthurs the left side of his chest. Clenching his
jaw, he crashed to the ground. Gwalahad fell with him, his
dreadful yell splitting the night air.
In the confusion, Arthur heard another twang of the bowstring,
and another arrow, this one shot hastily, missed the right side of
his chest and its shaft quivered as it dug itself into the dirt, a hairs
breadth from his side.
Merlin was thereArthurs foster-father and now adviser
and he shouted for Peredur to catch the archer. Bending over to
see the wound, the dark curls of his hair contrasting strongly with
his ashen, scar-etched face.
Are you alright? Stupid of me! Wheres your armor? He
swore, and Arthur knew why: blood began to pool under his white
tunic where the arrow had struck, and some of it leaked down to
the pit of his arm.
But Arthur knew that the wound was superficial. Gwalahad
had saved him from certain death, and as the man jerked his hand
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Once the search was concluded and the fortress secured, the doors
were opened to those gathered outside. Arthur went immediately
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