The Pendragon Legacy
Also available through Mirador Publishing:
The Prophecy
Vampire
The Knights of Camelot Series:
Lancelot and the Wolf
Lancelot and the Sword
Lancelot and the Grail
The Knights Of Camelot Volume One and Two
Lancelot and the Wolf and Other Stories
Lancelot’s Challenge
Lancelot’s Burden
Lancelot’s Curse
Betrayal Of Lancelot
Passion Of Lancelot
Revenge Of Lancelot
Sons of Camelot Series:
The Pendragon Legacy
The Du Lac Legacy
Albion’s Legacy
Rock and Roll Mysteries
Chords for the Dead
SONS OF CAMELOT
THE PENDRAGON LEGACY
BY
SARAH LUDDINGTON
www.theknightsofcamelot.com
www.romanticadventure.net
First Published in Great Britain 2014 by Mirador Publishing
Copyright © 2014 by Sarah Luddington
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without permission of the publishers or author. Excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
First edition: 2014
Any reference to real names and places are purely fictional and are constructs of the author. Any offence the references produce is unintentional and in no way reflects the reality of any locations or people involved.
A copy of this work is available through the British Library.
ISBN: 978-1-910104-89-7
Mirador Publishing
Mirador
Wearne Lane
Langport
Somerset
TA10 9HB
Despite the Black Dog
For Bandit and Pirate
CHAPTER ONE
“I’m impressed with your manhood but do you really need to spend quite so long cleaning yourself?” I asked over the noise of the waterfall.
The figure I watched flinched and slipped, catching the wall of rock to maintain his balance. He blinked water from his eyes and swept long black hair back out of his face. “Who are you?” he asked, locating me with surprising ease.
“Someone that clearly doesn’t want you dead, Galahad du Lac,” I said. I rose from under the trees and brushed my hands on my thighs to walk into the sun. “I need to talk to you.”
He stood in the water, completely naked and obviously thinking more about possible attack than his modesty. “Who are you?” he asked again.
“Loholt Pendragon,” I said and watched Galahad’s eyes widen in shock. “Morgana sent me to find you and she doesn’t have a lot of patience. So, please, Highness, get your rather lovely backside down here and we can leave.”
I turned my back but that perfect physical representation of manhood burned in my mind. “Thanks,” I muttered to myself as I backtracked to the horses. “I really appreciate being raised in such an open minded household.”
I did this often, more so since riding alone. I spoke to my father’s spirit and that of his Black Wolf. Sometimes I wondered which of them I missed more; my Uncle Lancelot had influenced a huge part of my training and upbringing once my mother stopped being dictatorial about my education. Their loss hurt every day.
I brushed my sadness aside and busied myself with Galahad’s fire. I’d been tracking him for days and knew he wouldn’t respond well to my company if I didn’t make a grand entrance and catch him unawares.
The tall figure strode out of the bushes and glared down at me where I once more sat on the ground. I smiled. “We have bird for breakfast,” I said, pointing at the roasting bird I’d caught the previous day.
Galahad’s eyes narrowed.
I tried again. “You have your father’s eyes, and clearly his physique.”
“My body is none of your business. I know how corrupt the men of Camelot and The City are,” he snapped and pointed at me. “You will be no exception.”
“Hmm.” I poked the fire and didn’t rise to the bait. “Your father told me you’d think like that, having been raised by The Lady.”
“Do not mention my corrupted father and my foster mother in the same sentence,” he said, but he did approach while pulling his shirt over his flawless pale skin. He sat on a log and stretched out his long legs. “Really, what are you doing here, Loholt Pendragon?”
“Holt,” I said. “Exactly what I told you. Morgana sent me because she is dying. Once she’s gone there will be a year of mourning and politics, then a new king or queen will be chosen. We want it to be you, so does your mother and so did your father. I’m charged with making it happen because they trust me.”
Galahad studied me with his dark brown eyes, so like his father’s. My own were like my mother’s apparently, but slid to grey whenever I was provoked. He really did look like his father, except for the long hair. Jet black and very straight, his Sidhe heritage obvious, tied at the nape of his neck with a leather thong and very well groomed. Unlike my dirty blonde mess. He spoke with no accent and his words were careful. Nothing about Galahad seemed relaxed.
I’d been warned he’d be difficult, contrary and proud. I feared these might be his most appealing attributes other than his long legs and rather lovely backside.
“My mother is dying?”
I could have slapped myself in the head. “Damn it, I’m sorry, Galahad. I should have been more careful.” I paused and watched a flicker of pain pass through Galahad’s eyes. I spoke more carefully, “She is very sick and growing weaker. She was closely tied to both our fathers and now they are gone...” I’d cry if I tried to finish that sentence. I had watched first Lancelot and then my own dear father die within days of each other. Arthur Pendragon didn’t release his lover’s hand for one moment during that final vigil. It broke all our hearts.
“It’s fine, Loholt. She and my father gave me away at birth, they are responsible only for bringing me into the world,” Galahad said firmly. “The Lady raised me as her own after they discarded me as worthless.”
I snapped my mouth shut before the summer bugs took up residence. “Erm, what?”
He turned those lovely dark eyes toward me and blinked. The long black lashes kissed his high cheekbones and soft skin. “They gave me away.”
“No,” I said gently. “They didn’t. You were taken as the price for peace. Morgana and Lancelot had to give you to The Lady to ensure she didn’t side with their enemies in the final war with Balar. It broke their hearts. Don’t you remember? You screamed and fought with terrible ferocity.”
Galahad stared at me for a very long time. “You lie. I was given to The Lady as a babe in arms.”
“No, you were four years old. You are now twenty four. I was ten at the time and remember it vividly. Your loss shattered your parents but they were desperate when they made the deal.” I watched the news filter through the carefully constructed exterior of Galahad du Lac.
“I am twenty four?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“What evidence do you have for your words?” he asked. I heard the brittle confusion behind his question.
“None, I didn’t think I’d need any,” I said. I moved slowly to the roasting bird, watching him. He was tense and a tense warrior you don’t know is not something you want to turn your back on.
“My foster mother would have no reason to lie to me,” he said.
“Um,” I said wondering how to deal with this tactfully. “What would telling the truth gain her?” Wow, sometimes I
amazed myself with my tact. Maybe I was my father’s son after all and not the constant failure I feared I represented.
The muscles in his jaw bunched and his hand flexed. “How long will it take to reach The City from here?” he asked.
“I’m not sure because I’m not sure I know where we are exactly.” I tore a leg off the bird and handed it to him. He took a bite but didn’t look at me.
“How did you find me?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I suspect a fair amount of divine intervention and luck.” I didn’t bother to mention my amble skills as a tracker.
“We will leave after breakfast and ride to the nearest town. They will tell us in which direction we should be heading,” he said with authority.
“Yes, Highness, of course, Highness,” I said.
He looked at me and I tried really hard to keep a straight face. His indignation at my tone made me want to laugh at him.
He ignored me but I watched the skin on his neck flush red. Poor boy.
I took pity and changed the subject. “Your mother will be pleased to see you.”
“After Lancelot died, my foster mother deemed it safe for me to leave our home,” Galahad said. “That is the only reason I am now here.” He picked at the meat without looking at it and tried to keep the grease off his fingers and his beardless chin.
“Safe? Why would your father’s death make it safe?” I asked. I studied him and attempted to peel back the layers to the honest core of the man. No easy feat. He was not happy. It was not the kind of unhappiness my arrival produced, there was something deeper, something broken inside Galahad du Lac.
Those dark eyes turned to me again. “Just because our fathers were close doesn’t mean I need to share my world with you, Lord Pendragon. If I am to challenge for the throne of Albion, we need to leave.” He rose and wiped his fingers on a soft cloth he pulled from his purse.
I wanted to poke that statement. I feared we’d made a real mistake in choosing Galahad as our next champion and king. “Our fathers were lovers, Galahad. The most beautiful –”
“Shut up. Their love was a corruption and stain on the honour of both our peoples. My mother was a sow for breeding their children.” The words snapped out of his mouth but his back remained facing me and slightly hunched, demonstrating his defensive attitude.
Despite his words making me feel sick I managed to stay calm. “Their love was the perfection Albion needed for years of peace. Their union flowed through the land and gave hope and happiness to countless people. And your mother is the bravest the most beautiful and intelligent woman I’ve ever met. Her dedication to the throne of Albion has been faultless. So has her sacrifice.”
Galahad didn’t look at me, merely held the saddle belonging to his large white stallion. “They were corrupt,” he said very quietly but I watched his hands grasping the saddle like a drowning man.
I didn’t push him or challenge him. I needed to think about this person and the child I remembered. I kicked the fire into submission and finished striking the camp. I unknotted the reins of my dun gelding, Sparrow, and mounted up in silence. We left the camp and I watched the long straight back of Galahad du Lac, Prince of Albion, take the lead.
CHAPTER TWO
When Lancelot first realised he was reaching the end of his long life, he and my own father began to talk to me about their experiences in detail. They needed me to understand how and why certain things happened and what I needed to take into consideration when I made my own decisions. Lancelot talked to me about his training with The Lady and her treatment of his friend Shuffle. He feared for his son, despite the regular reports he received from various sources telling him that his son was safe. Once he’d explained how The Lady would train Galahad’s mind and his body, we all realised I’d need to be very careful.
Her intolerance would shape Galahad and I had to avoid turning him against me or his own family. Albion must have a new king, I knew that, but what she didn’t need was a puppet controlled by The Lady. I had to make him understand a different world, one in which people were complicated.
We rode in silence for most of the morning and I tried to find a way through the brittle armour surrounding my companion. It finally resolved itself when Galahad asked, “How are my sisters?”
“Morgan and Nim are well but they are deeply wounded because of losing their father, uncle and now their mother,” I said. “They are lovely young women.”
“Arthur Pendragon is not their uncle and my father is not yours,” Galahad said.
I heard eggshells smashing as I tried to walk around his attitude. “Perhaps not through blood but we are one large family in our hearts and have waited for you to return so we could welcome you back.”
He turned in the saddle to look at me. “I have my family in The Lady. My responsibilities are to find good husbands for my sisters and to ensure they are happy. I presume they are...” He paused and I watched that flush creep up his face once more. “They are... Pure?”
I almost fell off Sparrow I laughed so hard. “Seriously? Oh, Galahad, you really need to take that broom out of your arse before you return home.”
So much for subtle.
His deep brown eyes narrowed and darkened. “I fail to see the humour in the situation. You have made yourself responsible for them. Their marriageable state is under your protection. I shall hold you responsible for their condition.”
I continued to laugh. “You can try it. Morgan might cut your throat but you can try it.”
“Moral integrity is vital to strong leadership and the leaders of Albion need to show the people how to govern correctly. If you disagree you are no friend to the ruling family, which I believe is the only thing protecting Camelot,” he stated.
I tried to sober up. “Seriously? We’ve known each other half a day and spoken perhaps one hundred words together and you’re threatening my city? Bloody hell, Galahad, you might look like your father but you really aren’t anything like him.”
“Good,” Galahad snapped. “His corruption and disgusting behaviour –”
“Down,” I shouted and leaned out of Sparrow’s saddle to push him to one side. An arrow hissed past my ear. Chaos erupted. I drew my sword and men rushed toward us. They were badly armed and clearly desperate to attack two trained knights. We might not be in full plate armour but we were obviously capable.
I sliced down toward the nearest opponent. He carried a large war axe, rusty and the blade ragged. I met the swinging attack easily, my own weapon cutting up toward his hands, under the axe head. You really need to know what you’re doing with an axe. He lost his right hand and his battle cry turned into a scream. I twisted easily, Sparrow lining up to kick back at those who dared to approach his rear end. Galahad took out two men effortlessly. A part of me just wanted to stop to watch him. Three more men charged and my sword danced to the eternal song of death.
“Holt,” Galahad screamed.
“Fuck!” A wave of agony roared up my side. Galahad turned his fine white stallion and threw his own sword toward me. It glinted in the sun as it turned end over end. The blade struck the man with the axe who’d recovered enough to slice me across my waist. Galahad’s fine sword descended to the ground stuck in the man’s face. I tried to breathe.
Galahad grabbed me as I swayed, suddenly beside me. “Holt, Holt, talk to me, please. Tell me you’re alright.”
“It hurts,” I managed. I held his upper arm and the horses were nose to tail. My head bowed and hit his shoulder. He smelt of rosemary and thyme.
“You damn fool. I thought he was going to kill you. Why didn’t you finish him off?” Galahad asked.
“I thought I’d give you something interesting to do to help. Besides, at least you’re speaking to me in a civil tone,” I gasped.
“Come on, there might be more of them,” Galahad said gently, his voice much softer than his father’s. He pulled at something in his saddlebag and pushed a clean cloth against my side. “Can you ride?”
I took o
ver holding the cloth. “I can ride. I think I need a better mail shirt.”
“He came up under the shirt. I don’t know where he found the strength. He must have been a fine warrior once.”
“So glad you appreciate our enemies,” I said.
We rode and I tried hard to stay upright. Sparrow’s golden flank gradually darkened with my blood and I found myself holding his black mane. I realised Galahad rode next to me and was talking. I tried to focus. Now, I was lying down and staring up at the blue sky. Nice blue sky.
“Holt, I need to undress you to see the wound clearly.”
“Oh, that sounds nice,” I said. “I like the thought of being naked with you.” I giggled.
I focused long enough to see his eyes widen in shock. Oh, shit.
“It seems you have far more in common with our fathers than I do,” he said coldly.
“Galahad, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” I grabbed his wrist. “Please. I need your help. I was raised in a household where we were surrounded by love and didn’t matter how or who, so long as we were happy. I’m sorry, really.”
He studied me for a long time. “Happy?” he asked.
“Very, once things had settled down. But we never forgot you, Galahad. Not for one moment. Every family celebration we remembered you.” My fingers tightened on his wrist to hold him close. I felt the damp spread of my blood trickling down my side and pooling under my back.
He studied me for a long time in silence and seemed to come to a decision. “Let me help you,” he said, pulling his wrist from my hand very gently.
He lifted me up. “Ah, that’s not nice,” I hissed.
“Try and support your own weight and let me lift the mail shirt off you,” Galahad said.
I nodded, trying very hard not to pass out. Shock was setting in and blood loss definitely took control of my awareness. He unbuckled my sword belt and the heavy metal shirt rose in his large hands like puddles of dull metallic velvet. My hands were over my head and suddenly I was free of the weight.
The Pendragon Legacy: Sons Of Camelot Book One Page 1