In Camelot’s Shadow: Book One of The Paths to Camelot Series (Prologue Fantasy) Read Online Free PDF Page B

town and that. He will respond with men and arms, as he must to preserve the peace that so boldly bears his name. We will harry those men, wear them down, kill all we can and withdraw. Soon, the Bastard’s forces will be weakened by so many small cuts, they will not be able to defend themselves when we are ready to give the death blow.”
    Harrik frowned. This was not the brash, heated Wolfget he knew from the wars. This stranger was a calm-hearted strategist. With a beautiful woman at his shoulder. Harrik glanced at her again. Had he been a young man, he would have stood up and made some fearless speech about rushing into battle, not for Wolfget’s sake, but for hers.
    Which was a point to be considered closely.
    “Harrik you sit as silent as stone.” Wolfget’s soft voice broke Harrik’s reverie. “What are your deep thoughts?”
    “My thoughts are of Badon,” he said, looking into the depths of the guest cup. “My thoughts are of lands, and of my son, hostage in Camelot to my word. And he is not alone there.”
Let me see your eyes, ‘brothers’, how many of your sons does Arthur hold?
“I am thinking of the thousand thousand ways Arthur is entrenched on this island. I am thinking of the kings who are his neighbors and who pay him tribute.” He gave them all a grim smile. “I am thinking we could have more easily bested the all the Roman legions than this king.”
    To Harrik’s surprise, Wolfget nodded. “Your words are sound, Harrik and they should be weighed carefully. But think of this. Does the Bastard have neighbors and friends? Yes. But so do we. The terms of Arthur’s peace have been hard on many, and many would be glad to see it broken. We have our secret friends in every town and fortress. Do arms and men flow from Arthur? They will flow into our hands.”
    Harrik looked around and saw how the eyes of the men on the floor shone with eagerness. He knew then how it would be. There would be hours of talk, some close questioning of Wolfget, perhaps even a few words of wisdom spoken. But in the end, they would all pledge their lives on Wolfget’s naked sword.
    Feeling like an old man, Harrik got stiffly to his feet. It would be better if he stayed, of course, if he lied and flattered and foreswore himself. But he could not. He would not.
    “What ails you, my Lord Harrik?” asked the woman softly.
    “Old wounds, my lady.” Harrik bowed to her. “This assembly will do as it will. We have been brothers in arms before this. I have been proud to say so. But I myself must consider carefully whether the peace that came when we laid down those arms has not benefited our people as it has the Britons.”
    He left the tent amid a stony silence. Out in the open air he called for his horse and his sword. The animal was brought to him by a sour-faced man with Wolfget’s blazon on his tunic. Harrik mounted and urged the horse into an easy canter until he was well out of earshot of the assembly encampment.
    When he judged he had gone far enough, he pulled up on the reins. The horse halted and Harrik climbed down. Looking sharply about him, he led the animal into the thick of the forest. There, he tethered the horse loosely to an elm tree. He did not want the animal trapped if he did not come back. He tightened the laces on his scabbard so his sword would not jingle. Then, one careful step at a time, he made his way through bracken and fern back to the camp.
    He had been uneasy when Wolfget sent his messenger with the invitation to this secret council. He had grown more uneasy each time he contemplated it. It was folly, this idea that the handful of Saxons who remained on the Isle of Britain could defeat Arthur. Worse, it was suicide.
    But is it enough for what I do now?
Harrik glimpsed the fabric of the tents and the sparkle of studded leather through the trees. Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground. Trying not to rustle the carpet of leaves beneath him, he crawled forward on his hands and knees.
Is it truly