Excerpt

In the journey of crafting a story, there are moments that must be set aside. Some scenes are removed to sharpen the pacing, others to clarify the narrative, and occasionally, to simply make everything fit. Yet, there are always those moments that linger, too dear to let go completely. This chapter is one of those moments—I hope you’ll enjoy.

Chapter 35 Excerpt

[Originally the beginning of chapter 35. Uther and Pellinore on their ride to Stonehenge]

“I swear every star in the heavens has come out of hiding to watch over us," Pellinore mused as they reached the old Roman road stretching to the west. Although the moon hung half-full the stars were in abundance ... giving guidance to the riders' destination.

“May the goddess Arianrhod safeguard our journey,” Uther asked of the heavens. As he spoke, an owl hooted from the nearby forest, its silhouette winging skyward causing the soot-covered stallion to dance sideways.

“It appears your goddess has spoken.” Pellinore watched the owl circle the riders twice before disappearing into the treetops.

“If I recall from my boyhood studies, the goddess Arianrhod took the form of an owl when leading the dead to the Otherworld,” Uther choked out the words then retreated into silence.

“I remember the first day Ambrosius set eyes on his stallion,” Pellinore reminisced, wishing to turn the conversation to happier times. “He was just nine, or was it ten?”

“He was ten.” Uther’s lips curled into a faint smile, but the lines of exhaustion on his face betrayed the weight of memory.

“Ah, yes, and you were just barely nine.” Pellinore tapped his temple with his index finger as if doing his best to jiggle long past recollections.

“Nearly fifteen years ago,” Uther responded, his voice lost in another world.

“The gray colt was a birthday gift from Lionel’s father ... wasn’t he?” Pellinore leaned forward in his saddle pressing Uther for affirmation.

“King Bors promised Ambros the colt was magical—An Iberian—beloved by many, including my brother’s favorite author, Homer.”

Uther could not help but smile at the memory. “He told him that within a year the gray colt would turn into a white stallion. The following spring, my brother insisted we take turns staying awake for weeks on end so we would not miss the magical moment. Alas, we both fell ill with the fever. Months later, when we had fully recovered, we had missed the transformation.”

“I was there that day too,” Pellinore said. “If I recall, you taunted your brother, telling him someone had stolen his horse and replaced it with another.”

“Yet, as always, Ambros had unconditional faith in things that could not be easily explained.” Uther reached back and patted the stallion’s hindquarters as he spoke. “To prove he was not duped, Ambros opened the yearling’s mouth, displaying the star-shaped birthmark on its upper gum—a sign only known by my brother and myself.”

“Was it not around that time that he taught the young stallion to roll in the dirt on command?” Pellinore let out a chuckle.

“Yes.” Uther slowed his stallion, lost in memories. “Even at that young age, Ambros was strategizing against the inevitable. He reasoned one day the shimmer of his stallion’s coat could expose our position when on night reconnaissance. Thus, he taught him to roll in the foulest muck ... to magically turn from light to dark.”

“Much to the delight of your uncle Budic, and the revulsion of his wife.” Pellinore let out a deep laugh. “Your brother was always planning, always thinking ahead. Did not Bors gift you a stallion two years later? What became of that colt?”

“He grew into a beautiful beast … died defending me against the Saxons on Brittany’s shores. It was my first Saxon battle, and I learned many great lessons.” Turning to Pellinore he sported a toothy grin. “The most important lesson ... never become emotionally involved with human nor beast, for the destiny of both is a far too early death.” Uther pressed his legs into Ambrosius’ stallion, racing off through the twisting road canopied by an overhang of budded branches. The scents of early spring followed as he galloped out of sight.