Jack Whyte - The Sorcer part 2 - Metamorphosis

Arthur's face settled into an expression of concern and sympathy, showing no trace of the initial horror that had flared in him when the mask first came off. Now he leaned slightly towards Llewellyn. "How did it happen?"

"Molten metal, carelessly handled. It should have killed me, but I was young and strong, so I survived. I was apprenticed to a smith who liked strong drink. One day he drank too much, and stumbled, and the liquid metal splashed. Not much, but it landed on me."

Arthur shuddered, and so, I noticed, did the others. "And you are still a smith?"

"Not still. I wasn't then. I was a beginning prentice, twelve years old. I became a smith later, once I discovered that I had more in common with iron than I did with people. So, will you come with me to Cambria, lad, to meet your father's people and to learn about his land?"

Arthur looked at me, and his eyes filled up with tears. Although I had no notion of what was going through his mind, I found a great relief welling up inside of me and felt a thickening in my own throat and an unaccountable prickling behind my eyes. "Aye," he whispered, nodding emphatically as though to convince some inner part of himself that doubted still. "I win. "

"There's on you, boy! We'll have a time, I promise you, and Huw Strongarm will teach you even more than I, once we come by him. We'll leave as soon as may be, for I'll tell you, I find myself uncomfortable here, cooped up by walls I cannot climb. Mountains are higher, and much wilder, but a man can pass freely among them and find sustenance in any part of them. Here, you have only kitchens, filled with folk all hungrier than you, and you must live with what they leave. No freedom here, boy—no fish to catch, nor fowl to shoot nor rabbits to snare, no eggs among the heather and no deer grazing in the stone courtyards. Tomorrow and today we'll spend preparing, and the morning after that we'll be away, free with the winds and rain. You're going to love your Cambria, my lad. I'll work you hard and drive you mad, but you will thrive on it. And wait you till you see the flashing eyes and other parts on Cambrian lasses! There's a treat in store for you! None bonnier there are in all the world, you'll see. Do you sing?".

Arthur looked at me again, mystified, but I merely smiled. "Do I sing? No, I don't, not much. But I can sing. "

"Aye, if you're your father's son you can. You'll sing among the mountains, won't be able to stop yourself, for there the gods dwell, boy, and they all sing. "

I stood up, grinning, and spoke to Ambrose, who had uttered not a single word in all of this. "Time now to go and meet your guests. Shall we?"

The meeting with Vortigern's representatives was straightforward and uneventful and contained only one startling piece of information. One of the Northumbrians, the senior man among them, spoke of Vortigern's hopes for a peaceful settlement of the problem that had been simmering for so long between him and Horsa's young, land hungry warriors. According to his report, some form of accommodation had been reached between Vortigern, or Horsa himself, and a small, well established settlement of Danes in the far south east, in that region known as the Weald but which the Danes were now calling Kent, or some such Outlandish name. This corner of Britain, the original Saxon Shore, had recently begun to attract massive incursions of Germanic tribes seeking a foothold in Britain. Although the local residents, so recently arrived themselves, had so far been able to repulse : these attacks, the numbers of marauders had continued to grow consistently and frighteningly, so that defeat seemed inevitable to the land holding defenders.

This situation, ironic though it seemed to me when I considered invaders fighting invasion, had led the leaders of the south-eastern Danes to approach Vortigern in the far northeast, knowing that he had long since sheltered and protected the Danes in his domain, and to ask for his assistance in defending their own lands. The result had been a lessening of the pressures on Vortigern, thanks to the eagerness with : which Horsa's young warriors had greeted this opportunity, apparently sent to them by the Fates: a war to fight, new lands to claim, and unknown women of their own race to meet their needs in amity and commonality. Hundreds of Horsa's warriors had left already, it appeared, sailing swiftly southward, and were not expected to return to Northumbria.; Horsa had gone with them, although none could say with certainty that he expected to remain long in the south.

This discussion reminded me that I had not yet read my letter from Germanus. I forced myself to listen politely, impatient now to return to my own quarters and find it. This information from Northumbria weakened Enos's arguments about Germanus's safety should he attempt to ride through south-eastern Britain. Horsa was no Christian warrior, and his army was a pagan horde, a very genuine threat to Germanus's plans for another meeting in Verulamium if the bishop thought to travel from Gaul to Verulamium via the Weald.

Engrossed in these thoughts, I missed the transition from the discussion of Horsa's Danes to the wonders these dour chieftains had found in Camulod. I snapped back to attention when one of them asked me something directly, and fortunately, I was able to answer his question without betraying my distraction. They praised the Colony's war readiness, and I emphasized that we stood prepared to face threat or attack from any direction, and at any time. I reassured them that I would indeed lead another expedition into Vortigern's lands within the coming year, to demonstrate our status as his willing allies. Shortly thereafter, I began searching for an acceptable reason for returning to my duties, until Ambrose himself came to my rescue, standing up and thanking me for taking the time to come and meet with his guests.

I rose and thanked all of them for coming to Camulod, and requested them to pass my greetings along to King Vortigern with my promise to meet with him in person the following summer. Then I bade them a cordial farewell and made my way back to the Villa, where Plato told me that Tressa had ridden up to the fort with the lady Shelagh, and would return late in the afternoon. I thanked him and went upstairs, where I found the leather cylinder containing Germanus's letter lying on the table by the window in our sleeping chamber. I took it back downstairs with me again, flicking my thumb idly against the wax that sealed it, and made myself comfortable in the sunshine that lit the atrium.

Caius Merlyn Britannicus

From Germanus Pontifex Auxerre, Gaul.

My Dear Friend:

Even as I write these words, / know that months will have elapsed and you will already have spoken to my old friend Bishop Enos by the time you have read them. Enos has been with me now for nigh on three months and will shortly be returning to his duties in the town once known as Venta Belgarum, in those territories of Britain which you deem lost to invaders.

By now, Enos will have told you that I intend—I am directed by my superiors—to return to Britain and conclude this affair of heretical mutiny among the bishops of your unhappy land. I fear there is enough danger therefore men's bodies and souls as matters stand, without the added perils being poured upon them by misguided teachers. Accordingly, I shall arrive in Britain in midspringtime of the coming year, crossing the Narrow Sea directly to the old Roman harbour of Dubris and making my way northward from there to Verulamium.

Believe me, my friend, I clearly envision the alarm with which you will receive these tidings, since, to your eyes, that particular region of your country is swarming with Godless pagans. Such is not the truth, however; Enos and his brethren have brought many hundreds into the light of Christ in recent years, particularly among the Anglians of the southeast, and it is to these good people that I will entrust my safety, secure in the benevolence of He whom I serve.