Jack Whyte - The Sorcer part 2 - Metamorphosis

It was Donuil who glanced down and saw me watching him, and his shocked reaction, uttering my name, silenced everyone else and brought them closer. Slowly, fuzzily, I raised my arm and waved them all away and they moved back, tentatively, watchful and wary. A new face now bent close to me, that of Mucius Quinto, our senior surgeon since the death of Lucanus and himself almost as old as Luke had been. He laid his hand on my forehead, pressing me back down onto the pallet, and asked me if I knew him. I was astonished to discover that my voice would not respond when I sought to answer him, but I swallowed, then breathed deeply several times and tried again. This time my tongue worked.

"I'm fine, Quinto, " I rasped, in a voice unlike my own. "What happened? Something hit me. Did I fall?"

He nodded, the frown fading from his face as he concluded I was no longer at death's door. "Aye, " he answered. "You fell on your head, from your horse. You were shot, with a Pendragon arrow. "

"A Pendragon arrow?' I digested that for the space of several heartbeats. "Then I should be dead. "

"Aye, you should. " This was Derek's voice, and I could see the concern stamped on his ruddy, bearded face "On two counts, you should be dead, but the arrow hit the blade of the sword across your back, and apparently that's even harder than your head."

Donuil, it transpired, had saved my life by noticing that there was still grease in the pivot wells of the lintel that held the great gateposts. He was amazed that the lubricant had remained in place for more than forty years, and that was what he had wanted me to look at. In standing up to go to him, I had moved my neck out of the bowman's sights, replacing it with the cross slung upper blade of the long sword that hung between my shoulders. Only that sword, made of the skystone's metal, could have deflected the hard shot Pendragon arrow. A mere cuirass would have been pierced and I would have died instantly. Instead, the arrow struck the blade exactly in the centre and shattered upon impact, the force of it slamming the cross hilt of the sword against my helm, concussing me and hurling me forward between my horse's ears, so that I fell to the stony ground head first and remained deeply unconscious for more than an hour. The blade of the sword, when I examined it later, showed not even a tiny scratch, although the thin iron cladding of the scabbard that had housed it was mangled and ruined.

I grunted and grimaced, feeling a stabbing pain now at my right shoulder. I tried to sit up but fell backwards again, my head swimming. Quinto leaned over me immediately, his face crumpled in solicitous concern, his hand reaching for my forehead, but I brushed it away. "Don't do that, Quinto, there's nothing wrong with me but vertigo. Help me sit up. "

He supported me with his right arm, and I leaned on him. Once I had taken several deep breaths, the room settled down again and I could see clearly. I began to feel better, and my deep breathing soon dispelled the nausea that had threatened to overcome me at first. Finally I felt strong enough to sit fully erect, moving away from the support of Quinto's arm. I drew one more deep breath and then looked around at the small group hovering in front of me, watching me with varying degrees of concern on their faces.

"Very well, then, I'm not dead and I do not intend to die, so will someone tell me who it was that shot me?"

Several heads turned towards Huw Strongarm. He stepped forward, flushing slightly, and threw a Pendragon longbow onto my bed, where it landed across my legs. "Owain, " he growled. "The Cave Man. "

Owain of the Caves, the traitor who had deserted us to join with Ironhair, the man I had eventually come to suspect of complicity in the attempt on Arthur's life. I looked into Huw's eyes, knowing the answer to my question even as I asked it.

"Where is he now?'

"He's dead. I wish I could say I killed him ,but mine was but one of seven arrows in his corpse when I reached him, and Llewellyn had struck off his head even before I arrived. " Huw paused, and no one else sought to speak during his hesitation. "He had lain hidden, here, in one of the wall towers. He must have hoped to get a shot at you and thought his life well worth the risk, for he knew he'd never get away alive, once he had shown himself. He hit you from no more than sixty paces. Don't know how he missed you the first time, but the second shot was right on target. He must have died happy, thinking you were dead. "

The man had sacrificed his life simply to kill me. Why? And then I recalled what I had seen last, and I knew.

"Where's Bedwyr?"

It was Philip who answered me. "He's outside, trying to mend the covering on the scabbard of your sword. Why, do you want me to send for him?"

I sank back immediately, only then aware of how much I had stiffened in protest at what my mind had told me. "No, leave him. " I looked back at Huw. "He wasn't only after me. He wanted the boy, too. They thought he was Arthur. "

Huw was the only one there who did not yield in the general buzz of speculation. His eyes narrowed, and then he nodded. "Aye, " he growled. "That makes sense. He didn't miss you with his first shot, then. From that distance, the Cave Man never would have missed a mark as big and plain as you. His first shot was for the boy. But the lad was on the ground, and kneeling half behind the gatepost, looking down at the shit in the hole there—people moving between him and Owain, too. First shot missed, hitting the gatepost. Second shot for you, knowing that everyone would run to you, leaving the boy as a clear target. Except that Llewellyn just happened to be looking in the right direction at the right time. Suspicious whoreson, Llewellyn One-Eye, trusts no one and likes no strange places. He never lets his guard down, and he sees more than most people do with two good eyes. He saw Owain move to make his first shot, and by the time the second was on its way, Llewellyn had already fired and death was on its way to Owain of the Caves. Good man, Llewellyn, for a suspicious, one eyed, ugly whoreson. "

I smiled at Huw, feeling suddenly very tired. I fought off the weariness and swung my feet over the side of the cot to the floor, bracing myself with my hands on the edge of my bed. The room swayed again, but then held steady, and I forced myself to breathe deeply again.

"Send him to me later, would you? I would like to thank him personally for saving my life. "

Huw Strongarm made a dismissive noise with his pursed. lips. "Llewellyn? Forget that, Caius Merlyn. He won't thank you for thanks, and he won't thank you for making him feel obligated to you for noticing. He won't thank you for anything, in fact, and the best thanks you can give him is to stay far from him and say nothing. "

My smile broadened to a grin and I shook my head. "Can't do that, my friend. Send him. I'll find a way to thank him— a way that he will like. " I paused, wondering how I might even begin to make that last statement true. "You like him, this Llewellyn. And he has your especial trust, I suspect. "

Big Huw nodded. "Aye. As I said, he doesn't look like much—an ugly, ill looking whoreson and that's a fact—but one of my sisters married him some years ago, seeing the man beneath the ill used countenance, and now she thinks she's chosen by the gods and he's the god who chose her. He has been good to her—to her and for her—and to everyone around him, too. Apart from the mess that is his face, there's not a flaw in his make up. He's the best of the best. "

As Huw turned to leave, picking up Owain's bow to take it with him, I stopped him with a gesture of my hand. It was an impulse, and just as capriciously I changed my mind. I shook my head and waved him away again, but still he hesitated.

"What? You wanted to say something?"