and the old man with the staff stepped from the shadows of the courtyard.
Arthur turned. “Who are you? And who did you say I am?”
“You are the only son of Uther Pendragon, and his wife, Igraine, who was once wife to Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall,” the old man said.
“Nay, old sir, you are mistaken. I am Arthur, younger son of Lord Ector of Wales,” Arthur responded politely.
“You are Ector’s fosterling, Arthur Pendragon. I brought you to him myself the night you were born. He knew not who I was,” the old man replied.
“Who are you?” Arthur asked, curious now.
“I am Merlin the Enchanter,” was the answer, “and ’twas I who placed the sword in the stone, and put a spell upon it so that only the rightful king of all of Britain might take it. All the lords of this land have been here before you to attempt to draw this sword forth from the stone. All have failed. ’Tis you, Arthur Pendragon, who is Britain’s rightful High King. Now, put the sword back into the stone from whence you drew it, and wait for me while I go to gather the lesser kings. You will then take the sword from the stone a final time before witnesses, and be proclaimed High King.”
“Is this why I could not wed with Lynior, Merlin?” the young man asked.
Merlin nodded. “You have your fate to follow, my lord, as Lynior has hers. She will give you a son in the spring, and from him will a line of Pendragons be born down through the centuries.”
“Lynior’s son cannot be king after me?” He didn’t understand.
Merlin shook his head. “None will follow you, Arthur Pendragon, though you will have one other son. I cannot prevent his birth though I would if I could, for he will be a curse. Nay, Lynior’s son must remain unknown to all but a few that the Pendragon line continue. You have half sisters, Arthur. The daughters of Gorlois. Morgause, Elaine, and Morgan. They are magical creatures who will seek to revenge their father on you and yours. To keep Lynior’s son safe you must keep him hidden even as I kept you hidden with Ector all these years so that you might live to follow in your father’s footsteps.”
Arthur nodded slowly. “I understand,” he said, feeling as if the stone that housed the sword was now upon his shoulders. He knew suddenly, and with great insight, that his boyhood was over; that the life ahead of him would be filled with adventure, passion, pleasure and pain. There would be great successes, and equally great disappointments. “You will stay with me, and guide me, Merlin, won’t you?”
“I will remain with Your Majesty as long as I can,” the Enchanter said, a small smile touching his wintery features.
“And no matter what happens my blood will flow down through the centuries?”
“Forever and ever, my lord. You have my promise,” Merlin answered quietly.
Arthur thrust the sword back into the stone. “Fetch the lesser kings then that I may prove myself their High King.”
“Yes, my lord,” Merlin replied, and he hurried off.
And so Arthur drew the sword from the stone in the grassy courtyard a second time, before all the lesser kings of Britain, and was proclaimed High King, though there were some who were not happy. His reign was a great one as Merlin had predicted, but the daughters of Gorlois, his half sisters, were a constant thorn in his side. The eldest of them, Morgan Le Fay, a powerful enchantress, seduced Arthur who had never met her, and conceived a child by him. Their son, Mordred, eventually became the downfall of his father’s kingdom.
But in the mountains of north Wales, Lynior, daughter of Evan, raised Arthur’s eldest son, Gwydre, in secret, protected by Merlin’s sorcery even after the ancient Enchanter disappeared. And through Gwydre, and his wife, Eres, daughter of Odgar, who was the son of Aedd, King of Ireland, the line of Pendragon continued down through the centuries unscathed.
Part One
Averil
Chapter 1
“I shall marry a great lord,” Averil Pendragon told her sisters as they sat together in their father’s hall. Her golden head nodded emphatically with her pronouncement.
“You shall marry the man our father chooses for you,” her sister Maia said.
“And he shall be a great lord,” Averil repeated.
“Perhaps,” Maia said. “But he could as easily be an old merchant to whom father owes a great debt, and wishes to pacify; or mayhap a knight father wishes to bind to our service. Your dower will be small, Averil, for though you are the eldest of us, you are still naught but a concubine’s daughter. My brother Brynn and I are the true heirs,” Maia concluded loftily with a satisfied smile.
“But I am the most beautiful of us all,” Averil shot back. “Everyone says I am the fairest of our father’s daughters. My beauty shall not be wasted on some merchant or simple knight. I may be the daughter of a concubine, but our father loves my mother, and so my value is great.”
“You are the most beautiful of us all!” their youngest sister, Junia, said with a sigh. “You are both very beautiful, and I am so plain.”
“You are not plain, Junia,” Maia said. “You are simply young.”
“Aye, I am,” Junia replied. “You have such rich red hair, Maia. And you, Averil, are descended from the Fair Folk, and have hair like spun gold. My dark hair is so common.” She sighed.
“But your features are exquisite,” Averil remarked. “You have the most perfect little nose, and a sweet mouth, Junia. As for your hair, it has the blue-green shine of a raven’s wing. It is hardly common, sister.”
“But I am a concubine’s daughter, too,” Junia wailed. “And the youngest! What sort of dower will I have by the time I am old enough to wed? Father will probably have to match me with the old merchant.” She began to cry.
“Now see what you have done with your proud boasting!” Averil snapped at Maia. “You have made the baby weep, and if we cannot stop her we will be punished.”
“What about your boasting about being the most beautiful and marrying a great lord?” Maia demanded to know. Reaching out, she pulled Junia from her stool, and into the comfort of her arms. “There, there, chick, do not fret. Father loves us all equally, and we will all have grand dowers and great lords for husbands I am certain.” She stroked her little sister’s dark head.
“Really?” Junia sniffed softly.
“Of course, you goose!” Averil said impatiently. “We are the Dragon Lord’s daughters, and descended from King Arthur himself. Even today our ancestor’s memory is still strong. But because I am the eldest I shall be wed first, and I will be fifteen next month, sisters. I think it is time for me to be matched. Most girls are wed younger than fifteen. Da just doesn’t want to let us go.”
Junia’s tears faded away. “I did hear our da speaking with the lady Argel about matches a few days ago,” she said innocently.
Maia’s arms dropped from about her sibling. “What did my mother and our father say?” she demanded to know.
