Free M. K. Hume [King Arthur Trilogy 04] The Last Dragon by M. K. Hume

us, Cadwy Scarface. My uncle, King Artor, would tell you not to be a fucking fool. He always understood the ways of the warrior, and defended men who served loyally regardless of the honour of their masters. He was fond of saying that if a good sword was wielded by a graceless fool, then the sword wasn’t at fault. I, for one, have no argument with you, swordsman of the Brigante. We have fought together often enough.’
    King Gawayne’s speech was followed by a coughing fit that caused his younger daughter to produce honeyed wine and a goblet from her pack. Gawayne leaned back on his cushions. He was well pleased with his outburst, for several of his peers were looking guiltily down at their hands.
    ‘Few men understand the ties of binding oaths and personal loyalties more keenly than Artor did.’ Bedwyr added his voice to Gawayne’s. ‘For this reason alone, I acquit this warrior of treason and only hold him guilty of obeying his oaths of fealty when he knew they were wrong. I, too, have bled with Cadwy Scarface and have no desire to see him die because his master was a cur.’
    ‘Nor I,’ cried Pelles, quickly followed by Bors, two warriors who had served Artor long and well. ‘We have all been guilty of deeds that caused us pain or shame for the sake of oaths given to our masters. Such is the cost of personal loyalty. Artor himself admitted that his actions at Melandra were prompted by his grief at the murder of his friend King Luka. Many of us were privy to his regrets. Yes, we who obeyed his orders sometimes believed that his actions were extreme, and were likely to cause resentment for decades to come. But we obeyed because Artor was our king and we were oath-bound to him. There is little difference between Cadwy Scarface and any one of us, except that his master was a murderous traitor while ours was a man of innate decency under his rage and loss.’
    ‘We who remember the days of glory do not wish to sully Artor’s memory with petty reprisals against worthy men,’ Bors added, while around him other warriors remembered his long service to his kinsman over many years of warfare and tribulation. These men had earned the right to decide Cadwy Scarface’s fate.
    Bran bowed his head and assisted Scarface to rise to his feet. ‘You are free, Cadwy, to add your sword to those of us who will mount the defence of the west. I hope we never reach this parlous state of affairs again.’
    ‘I swear now that I will freely give my allegiance to all the kings of the Union of the West and hope for peace in the life that is to come,’ Cadwy Scarface said in a voice so soft and emotional that few of those present heard all his words. ‘May I die in the defence of all these lands, not just Brigante soil, for I and my fellow Brigante tribesmen already bear the curse of the Mother Goddess. Whatever comes to the Britons, whether it is shameful defeat, victory or a bloody death, I will always honour my oath.’
    No man doubted him as he limped back to his seat in a hall that had settled into a thoughtful silence. Somehow the pleasure of laying all the blame for their losses at Mark’s door seemed simplistic and mindlessly vengeful.
    Then, from above, an owl screamed its hunting call of triumph and the air was filled with barred wings and sharp talons. The bird swooped over the assembled kings, its wicked claws spread to catch and kill, before it turned in mid-flight, as if the air had become solid. Then, with a few rapid beats of its wings, the great bird rose upward to the open roof in a long spiral before settling on a charred rafter. It gazed down at the humans below with unblinking yellow eyes.
    ‘She is here,’ Taliesin, the king’s singer, said aloud in surprise. ‘The goddess deigns to preside over this trial, and she is reminding us that our duties haven’t been completed.’
    Whether Christian or pagan, the kings touched their crosses or the runes at their throats in sudden dread. In broad daylight, at a time