by Svalbard

Created on: March 04, 2009

Morfrans.

The hunt that day did little to alleviate the gnawing in Arthur's head. Gwenhyvar plagued his thoughts throughout that cold day in the hills north of Ebrauc. He wished that he could have withdrawn his hasty words of the previous day, the insulting tone of his voice, the arrogance of his words. Yet when he thought of her he had to conclude that she had a way with bringing out the worse in a man. Did she not know who he was? What he had become since those early years! He smiled at the thought. Arrogance, no one escaped the curse of that sin.

The bitterness of the day turned worse with the fall of an icy rain. It was enough for Arthur and he called to Cai and Bedwyr that it was time to return to Ebrauc.

"About time!" snapped Cai.

Arthur looked at him. "What?"

"You've been brooding all day, man, no doubt thinking of that sharp tongued witch from yesterday. I told you she was trouble all those years ago," Cai replied.

"You said no such thing. All you spoke of was what you would do to her if ever she" Bedwyr cut in.

Arthur looked across at Cai. "I remember."

He kicked his horse ahead of his companions. Cai looked ruefully at Bedwyr.

"Did you have to remind him? He will be insufferable for the night. Brooding over his mead and looking to pick a fight with anyone who looks at him sideways. Which will more than likely mean me!" he said with feeling.

Bedwyr shook his head. "At least it will make a change from you and Lancelot locking horns." With that Bedwyr cantered off after Arthur.

Cai sat his mount and watched the two ride into the darkening evening. He wished Durstan was here. He could lighten any mood. Muttering a curse Cai followed his companions to Ebrauc.

It was dark and torches lit up the entrance to Ebrauc. The gates would remain open until the Pendragon returned. Standing in the shadows of the north gate, a short, powerfully built man leaned against the stonework. His eyes were closed, but his ears listened. They heard the shouts of greetings from Gwyll's guards. The name resonated. He had long heard the tales, the growing reputation. Arthur map Uthyr, the Pendragon, was the name on all of the bards' lips. Slayer of Saxon, Gael and Pict, he was the light in a bleak world. The man heaved himself from the tower's wall when he heard the horses canter on the cobblestones near him.

"My Lord, a word!" he called out, throwing back the hood of his cloak. It revealed a face of horror. Spirals of blue tattoos covered the man's features and over them, distorting the patterns,

• 1
• 2
• Next Page >>