Warrior of the West Read Online Free PDF

person involved in Ironfist’s war against me, then his own crown will be considered forfeit by the Celtic kings. And I will not forget the slight when I arrive at his gates.’
    ‘He’ll not like such a message,’ Gruffydd replied drily, although his mouth smiled within his grizzled beard.
    ‘You may inform him that all of our lands will not be wide enough to save him from my wrath if my messenger is harmed in any fashion.’ Artor grinned. ‘Just in case he determines that he doesn’t like you, my friend.’
    ‘I take your kind addition gratefully, my lord,’ Gruffydd responded. ‘I’m fond of my head just where it is.’
    ‘And if King Lot rails against my decision to place his son in danger, or complains that the offer of a truce was weak and foolish, you may remind the king and my sister that they have constantly pressed me to cease the bloodbath of racial hatred.’
    ‘I will be happy to remind them of their old loyalties.’
    ‘But you should also tell my sister that I weep with her for her lost son. Gaheris was a better man than I am, and would have grown to be a leader of other men because of his purity of spirit and clarity of mind. Good Celts everywhere share in her loss, for all the kingdoms are the poorer without his grace.’
    ‘I will say all that is necessary, my king. Of this you may have no doubt.’
    ‘I don’t, Gruffydd. Take an escort suited to my consequence. You will do all honour to King Lot and Queen Morgause, regardless of past insults and allegiances, for they are the parents of Gaheris, one of the heroes of . . .’ Artor paused, and looked to Ulf for an answer.
    ‘We met the Saxons at Y Gaer, my lord.’
    ‘One of the heroes of Y Gaer. I will not permit that name to be forgotten, nor will I forget the appalling cowardice of Glamdring Ironfist. He will suffer for every drop of innocent blood that he shed so unnecessarily at that accursed place.’
    The High King was a man who paid more than lip service to the notion of protection for the innocent, Gruffydd knew. He thought of his foster-daughter, Nimue, and how Artor had ensured that the infant would grow and blossom.
    Artor transferred his gaze to Odin. ‘Find shelter, ale and clean pallets for these good men. Honour them, for theirs has been a terrible burden.’
    Odin departed at a run.
    Turning back to Gruffydd and Targo, Artor issued his orders.
    ‘Gruffydd, you have my leave to proceed with your task, with my gratitude. Targo, call the captains to attend me for a council of war. Ironfist had best be like his name, for I plan to lock his hands in a vice and squeeze him dry. Then I will rid the earth of this Saxon. We’ve reasoned with him for long enough.’
    ‘It will be a pleasure, Artor, a great pleasure. We have sat on our arses for three years.’ Targo grinned evilly.
     
    A war council was held four days later, long after the remains of the dead were burned with aromatic woods and their souls had been sent to the heroes. The hall atop Cadbury Tor was filled with warriors and chieftains, the greatest of whom sat on sturdy benches and drank from Phoenician glass as the day surrendered to evening.
    Many of their number had ridden far, for they had come from the far-flung outposts of Ratae, Venonae, Viroconium, Aquae Sulis and Venta Silurum. Their horses had been ridden to the point of death and men had driven themselves, without sleep or pause for food, in order to answer the call of the High King. A sophisticated network of communications made meetings such as this one possible, but only the loyalty and obedience of the captains could bring them to Arthur’s court at Cadbury so expeditiously.
    Artor’s hall lacked the heavy ornamentation or the pretensions seen in Uther Pendragon’s formal rooms in Venta Belgarum. In true Celtic style, the hall was longer than it was wide, and no anteroom forced visitors or petitioners to cool their heels until the High King chose to admit them. Simple, beautifully polished