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  Table of Contents

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  About Pendragon Rises

  Praise for the Once And Future Hearts series

  Title Page

  Maps

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Part Two

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Part Three

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

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  About the Author

  Other books by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Copyright Information

  About Pendragon Rises

  She is invisible to everyone but the blind man…

  Anwen is the least favored companion to Lady Igraine, the Duchess of Cornwall. No man will marry her, for she is old and plain. Instead, she teaches Igraine’s children to read.

  Steffan of Durnovaria was once a celebrated warrior in the Duke of Cornwall’s army, a friend to Prince Uther, the High King’s brother, and destined for greatness, until a Saxon war hammer stole his sight and destroyed his life.

  To deflect Steffan’s anger from the warriors around him, Igraine directs him to help Anwen teach her daughters. The assignment brings him no happiness and terrifies Anwen, who has never spoken to a man directly in her life.

  When the new High King, Uther, meets Igraine for the first time and becomes obsessed with her, Anwen and Steffan are drawn into a web of lies and deceit that could destroy Britain’s fragile peace.

  This novel is part of the ancient historical romance series, Once and Future Hearts, set in Britain during the time of King Arthur.

  1.0 Born of No Man

  2.0 Dragon Kin

  3.0 Pendragon Rises

  4.0 War Duke of Britain

  5.0 High King of Britain

  6.0 Battle of Mount Badon

  7.0 Abduction of Guenivere

  8.0 Downfall of Cornwall

  9.0 Vengeance of Arthur

  10.0 Grace of Lancelot

  11.0 The Grail and Glory

  12.0 Camlann

  Readers have described Tracy Cooper-Posey as “a superb story teller” and her ancient historical romances as “written art”. Get your copy of Pendragon Rises today!

  Praise for the Once And Future Hearts series

  It takes me back to the magic I felt when reading Mary Stewart's stories of Merlin. Tracy Cooper-Posey has written another winner!

  As a long time, self proclaimed Arthurian Legend junkie I couldn't wait to dive into Tracy Cooper Posey's new series. Tracy once again proves to be a master story teller as she weaves the delicate threads of this beloved legend into her own.

  Oh my goodness. Of course I was not sure what to expect with this but what I got was a wonderful story set in the time just before King Arthur. Invading Saxons, Romans, Kings, princesses, mysteries, Merlin, and romance? Wonderful beginning to a new series and I cannot wait to read more.

  I also love the fact that her female characters are definitely not boring, whiny or TSTL.

  Tracy Cooper Posey is brilliant at weaving stories with individuals that are completely believable in their thoughts and dialogue.

  MAPS

  Locations in Pendragon Rises

  Other locations in Britain

  Greater and Lesser Britain

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Dimilioc Fortress, Duchy of Cornwall, 464 C.E.

  Both Daveth and Cador were absent for the evening, which should have been warning enough, except Steffan couldn’t see the empty places at the head table.

  He found the small table at the back of the room, ran his staff along the bench and learned it was unoccupied. He rested the staff against the edge of the table, then slid onto the end of the bench, as was his custom.

  The chatter in the stone room was louder than usual, disguising the sound of the evening meal being served by the slaves and servants. Perhaps that was why he missed the other signs.

  From the odors, he judged that mutton was tonight’s meal. And…something with warmed honey. Parsnips, possibly. Through the high open windows, he could smell the sea. It was a fresh scent, pleasant among the aged and sour smells in the hall. Dimilioc was five miles from Tintagel and three miles from the ocean. Everyone called Steffan a liar when he said he could detect the salt and the weeds which clung to the rocks and dried in the sun. Yet the scents were undeniable.

  Someone thumped a mug in front of Steffan. He heard the wine slosh and felt the splatter on his hand. He reached out to locate the mug and raised it to his face and sniffed. It smelled like the sour wine Cornwall produced. He sipped cautiously.

  He had discovered all sorts of additions in his mug on previous evenings. Soil was common. Food, too. Gobs of spit were frequent. On one memorable occasion, there had been urine.

  It was just wine, tonight. He took a deeper mouthful and put the mug where he could find it again.

  Another clatter told him a plate had been put in front of him. He waited and heard the wet slap of meat. “Thank you,” he said, his voice dry.

  No answer. That was also customary.

  Steffan pulled out his knife and thumbed the edge. The blade was satisfyingly sharp. He put his left hand on the table, then brushed it sideways, looking for the edge of the plate.

  Nothing. His hand swept all the way to the right. His fingertips touched the wine mug.

  Someone had removed the plate.

  A snigger from nearby told him what had happened. It was Maurgh’s soft laugh. The high note was unmistakable. He or one of his faction had pulled the plate away while Steffan had been checking his knife.

  “Awww…the priest can’t find his dinner.” That was one of the others. Steffan wondered how many of Maurgh’s men were watching the by-play, enjoying what they thought was Steffan’s humiliation.

  Steffan brought the knife point down upon the table and rested his hand on the hilt. “Tutor,” he corrected them. “Give me the plate.”

  “All tutors are priests,” Maurgh said. He paused. “Or eunuchs. You’re sure you’re not a eunuch? You just said you are not a priest.”

  More laughter.

  Steffan squashed the anger which wanted to rise. He was hungry. The more he argued with Maurgh over his lack of reasoning abilities, the longer it would take to get the plate back. He gritted his teeth and wai
ted, instead.

  Everyone nearby was chomping their food and drinking. Steffan’s belly cramped.

  “Let the sod have his meat,” Maurgh said. “He’s too good to sit with us Cornish men. He was in the High King’s favor, remember.”

  Someone clapped Steffan on the shoulder. He hid his twitch of surprise. He had not seen the slap coming.

  A metallic scrape sounded as the plate was returned to him.

  “Enjoy your meal, eunuch,” the breathy, low voice murmured in his ear.

  Steffan traced the edges of the plate, then ran his fingers over the meal itself. The meat was still warm and felt as it should. He found the lumps of parsnip, sitting in a honey sauce to offset the peppery flavor. There was nothing inedible among them as far as he could tell.

  He sawed off a lump of the mutton and chewed, wishing as he often did that he had a room of his own where he could take his meals. It would halt the pranks which Maurgh and other soldiers of the same quality found to be a worthy night’s entertainment. It would also allow Steffan to eat without everyone watching him play with his food like a child.

  The men at Maurgh’s table also ate. He could hear them grind their food between their teeth as they spoke.

  If all he must put up with tonight was the stealing of his plate, then it would be a normal, almost pleasant evening. It just didn’t feel normal. For a moment, while gripping his knife and waiting for the return of the plate, Steffan wanted to lash out. Slice arms open and finger tips off.

  Maurgh was being no more belligerent than usual. Steffan forced himself to consider the real cause for the knot of tension in his chest.

  At the end of their lessons today, Cador had touched Steffan’s arm to gain his attention. “My father has spoken of me joining him at the High King’s side.”

  Steffan hid the jolt Cador’s confession delivered. Once, it had been Steffan by the High King’s side, one of Duke Gorlois’ most favored captains. Steffan made himself nod. “You are seventeen. It is reasonable that you finish your education now and take up your responsibilities as your father’s heir.”

  “I like my education,” Cador said. Steffan could hear the smile in his voice. “You make Latin make sense.”

  “You don’t need Latin on the battlefield,” Steffan replied. “You are a good warrior, Cador. You will grace yourself on the field and make your father proud.”

  “How would you know I am a good warrior?” Cador asked, with a soft laugh.

  Steffan did not mind Cador’s teasing. It was never cruel. “I listen to the other men. They watch you closely.”

  “They measure,” Cador said, his tone dry. He sounded like a much older man. “Every day I am examined.”

  It was true, so Steffan said, instead, “When does he want you to join him?”

  “He said ‘soon’. I don’t know what that means.” Cador sounded pensive.

  Steffan considered. “Ambrosius is still camped outside Ellisbury—”

  “Amesbury,” Cador corrected. “Remember?”

  “Amesbury,” Steffan amended. The town had changed its name to celebrate its status as the birth place of the High King. The massive stonework being rebuilt on the plains a few miles from the town had elevated it to one of the busiest places in Britain. “Amesbury is only three days’ ride from here and these are times of peace. The work on the monument is likely to take many days yet. Months, even. There is time.”

  “They have been at it for nearly a year,” Cador pointed out. “If Merlin is the all-powerful magician they say he is, then why does he not cast a spell and have the stones just raise themselves into position?”

  “They say he is using magic,” Steffan said. “The magic of music and mathematics…which are not your strengths at all.”

  “Then I will never be a magician,” Cador said lightly. “What will you do when I go to my father, Steffan? Dimilioc is a military fort. There is no one else here to teach.”

  “No one worthy, at least,” Steffan told him, the tension in his chest tightening just a little more. “I don’t know what I will do,” he admitted. “The Duke was kind enough to find me a place here. I cannot demand he find another.”

  “I don’t think kindness had much to do with it,” Cador said. “Your magic is with languages, Steffan. Also, I have learned to appreciate logic and reasoning because of you.”

  “You are kind to say so, Master Cador,” Steffan replied. “Shall we meet again tomorrow? There is still time to acquaint you with Scipio.”

  “Another Greek?”

  “A Roman general who knew much more about military strategy than you.”

  “I suppose, yes, we should, then. Tomorrow at noon. Thank you, Steffan.”

  Steffan listened to Cador bounce to his feet and hurry from the room, eager to stretch his body with riding and hunting, now that Steffan had thoroughly stretched his mind.

  The conversation lingered in Steffan’s mind through the rest of the afternoon, as he made his way to the stables and brushed and fed Avalloc. He took three times longer to complete the simple tasks these days. The pitchfork to shovel hay and the brush to tend to Avalloc’s hide, and the sack of oats were never where they were the day before. Each day he was forced to hunt for them throughout the large stable.

  As Steffan finished the last bites of his supper, the memory of the conversation returned to him, accompanied by the frustration which had been growing all afternoon. Uncertainty breeds fear… Who had said that?

  He wasn’t fearful. Yet the uncertainty gnawed.

  “Watch out, Steffan!” came the cry.

  Steffan turned his head, searching for the direction of the warning.

  The tankard which hit him in the shoulder was still half-full of wine, which splashed onto Steffan’s face and spilled down his front and back. The tankard itself was a heavy thing which sent a flare of pain through his shoulder.

  Steffan hissed and grabbed at his shoulder. The tankard clattered on the flagstones beneath him. Wine dripped from his hand and thigh.

  The laughter which broke out around him was from more than just Maurgh’s table. It was a raucous sound. Fists and mugs thumped upon the table tops, signifying their great amusement.

  For the first time Steffan wondered why Daveth did not shout for order. Daveth liked an orderly meal, even if it was loud with chatter. He sent men from the room if he didn’t like their behavior, whether or not they had finished their meal. The custom contained the inclinations of men like Maurgh and his brethren.

  “Look at the eunuch. He’s wet himself!”

  That earned even more laughter, as if it was the height of wit.

  Steffan clenched his hand, weighing up whether it was worth responding. He was already frustrated. Reacting as he wanted to would not be fair.

  He shook off the wine from his hand and the worst of it from his jerkin and trousers. The jerkin was leather and would not be harmed. He would have to coax one of the kitchen servants into washing the trousers for him, which meant finding something else to wear in the meantime.

  That would take up most of his spare time tomorrow and he already faced the challenge of finding another position in another household somewhere…

  No, he would not lash out at these men. They were just the last of a day’s worth of irritations.

  He turned back to his plate and felt the edge carefully. Then he cautiously ran his fingertips over the contents. It was as he had left it. The mug had not been a distraction for further mischief.

  His shoulder throbbing where the mug impacted the heaviest, Steffan finished his meal. The parsnips tasted of wine, now.

  He was close enough to done that he could have abandoned his meal and left the hall. Only, the temper stirring in his gut and chest made him stay where he was and eat, even though the parsnips did not go well with wine.

  When he was completely finished, he cautiously sipped his wine once more, then drained the mug. He got to his feet and reached for the staff. It had been moved an extra foot along the table, too
.

  He gripped the staff and headed for the door. He always sat at the back of the hall. From here, he knew the way to the door and that there was nothing between the last of the tables and the wall which might trip him. If a man stood in his way, the tip of the staff would warn Steffan of it.

  It had taken many weeks to learn to constantly sweep the staff from side to side to check for obstructions. After he had struck his shins and knees and his nose and elbows enough times, the lesson sunk in.

  Steffan moved forward, the staff painting in his mind a picture of clear floor. When something snagged his ankle and pulled it out from under him, he was taken by surprise.

  The yank was powerful enough to take him off his feet. Steffan landed on his back on the stones, the wind driving out of him. His head rapped sharply against the floor, creating sparks in his mind.

  The laughter, this time, seemed to sweep through the whole room. All background conversation stopped.

  Fury swept through Steffan. He gripped his staff and jumped back to his feet. He pushed his left hand farther down the staff and gripped it, listening, while his temper throbbed in his head, driving out wise thought.

  There. There was the closest laughing man.

  Steffan rammed the end of the staff into the laughing man’s chest, hard enough to steal the air from his lungs. A coughing sound confirmed he had hit squarely.

  “Hey!” someone protested, from behind him. Steffan reversed the staff and shoved it backward, aiming for the protestor. Another square strike.

  The laughter halted as the man wheezed and groaned.

  “Get the bastard!” someone shouted.

  Steffan shifted his grip on the staff, waiting. Every man in this room was a warrior and not one of them had read a book. None of them knew—or they had forgotten, if they had known—that one of the most effective weapons in the world was the quarter staff.