The Wolf and the Crown - Softcover

Attanasio, A. A.

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0061053708 ISBN 13: 9780061053702

Publisher: Eos, 1998

Synopsis

While Merlin fights the forces of evil in Hell that threaten Arthor's reign, Arthor must guide his people past the sorceries of old and an established empire to save his people, and he must also fulfill his destiny by finding true Earthly love. Original.

About this title

About the Author

A. A. Attanasio is the author of The Wolf and the Crown, The Eagle and the Sword, The Dragon and the Unicorn, Solis, Kingdom of the Grail, Hunting the Ghost Dancer, Wyvern, Radix, and The Moon's Wife. He lives in Hawaii.

Reviews

Though he possesses the legendary sword Excalibur, the boy-king "Arthor" discovers that he must earn the respect of the warring lords of Britain before he can truly claim his place at their head. The third volume in Attanasio's epic re-creation of the Arthurian cycle follows young "Arthor" through his first difficult year of kingship. Drawing liberally from both Norse and Celtic mythologies, the author adds his own cosmic embellishments to a story that spans not only the island of Britain but the lands of faerie, the Otherworld, and the spaces between the stars as well. Along with the other series titles, The Dragon and the Unicorn (HarperCollins, 1996) and The Eagle and the Sword (LJ 6/15/97), this mythic fantasy belongs in most libraries.
Copyright 1998 Reed Business Information, Inc.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter OneArthor Draws the Sword

The sword came away so easily from the stone that Arthor could only stand there startled, with the gold hilt in his trembling hand and the silver blade flashing with sunlight. Immediately, he tried to return it to the black rock in whose cleft it had stood undisturbed and immovable for so long. But the rock would not hold the blade anymore. The sword slid from his grip and would have clattered across the anvil-shaped stone and fallen to the ground had he not quickly seized it again.

The hilt of gold felt preternaturally shaped to his palm and fingers, and the blade swung lightly through the air, a natural extension of his arm. From farther down the hill, on the slopes of Mons Caliburnus, a small crowd uttered cries and shouts to see the sword drawn so readily from the stone. They were the swordsnuths and their patrons, the merchants and warriors who had come to Camelot for the third of the five-year festivals to commemorate the setting of this sword in the stone by the wizard Merlin.

Only moments before, Arthor had attempted to purchase a sword from them for his brother Cei, who had damaged his weapon on the dangerous trek from White Thorn, their home in Cymru. The swordsmiths had mocked him, a ragged servant with no coin and nothing of worth to barter. He had shuffled uphill dejectedly, kicking at the hawkweed and dandelions in the yellow clover. He would not even have tried his hand at the swordexcept that he had remembered seeing this marvelous weapon once before.

Just days ago, on his journey to Camelot, Arthor had been diverted into the hollow hills, the realm of the pale people of Celtic lore known as the Daoine Sid. Those Celtic gods were more real than mere lore-he knew that now-but that knowing sorely troubled his Christian mind. In the hollow hills, he had seen marvels that rocked the very foundations of his faith: Faeries had deceived him and vampyrical lamia had nearly torn him to pieces; Bright Night, prince of the elves, had conversed with him; and, worst of all, he had confronted the vehement god that the north tribes called the Furor and stared terrified into his one mad eye. The Furor would have slain him on the spot but for Merlin, who at the last moment appeared to wield this wonderful sword and fend off the rageful god. Thus, Arthor had escaped with his life intact-and his wits nearly shattered.

This was that sword, he realized as the sundering truth staggered him and he leaned back against the black stone. Was it a dream? he queried his frightened soul. Is this a dream?

The loud voices now clamoring from below assured him he was awake. And the sunlight smashing off the clear blade hurt his eyes and branded his brain with the precise shape of the sword that he remembered from his trespass of the underworld. How can this be?

From below, the swordsmiths and warriors came running, yelling at him, "Boy! Boy! Put that sword down!"

He moved quickly to obey. But, again, the stone would not receive the sword. He turned and lifted the blade in a hapless shrug to show that he had tried and failed.

Merlin and Arthor

The scowling crowd edged closer, then stopped their shouting all at once. Arthor thought for an instant that the beauty of the sword had silenced them. Suddenly, a dark voice opened from behind him, and he jumped and nearly dropped the blade.

"The sword is drawn!"

Merlin rose from the cliffside of Mons Caliburnus as if hoisted by invisible wings. His midnight blue robes furled in the river breeze, and his wide-brimmed hat, its conical top bent askew, cast a dark shadow over his long face.

"The sword is drawn! Bend your knees before your king!"

"But he is a boy!" one of the warriors shouted, even as most in the small crowd genuflected reflexively before the imposing presence of the wizard.

"This is no mere boy." Merlin strode to Arthor's side and placed his long arm across the lad's shoulders. Garbed in a hempen sack-shirt, with his short hair stiff as a hedgehog's and his pale, rosy-cheeked face slack-jawed with awe, Arthor indeed appeared a callow youth. "This young man is Aquila Regalis Thor-high king of all Britain. Kneel before him or be banished!"

The command in Merlin's vibrant voice brought everyone to their knees. Arthor, startled speechless, turned to look at the wizard. This close, he could see the subtle crimson stitching of astrological sigils and alchemic devices in the blue fabric. And within the shadow cast by the wide-brimmed hat, he beheld a strong, aged profile, pale and pocked as if carved from stone,

"Say nothing," the wizard whispered to him. "Hold the sword high and march downhill to your palfrey. Slowly. Remember--you are king. Carry yourself with regal bearing."

Arthor complied, though his heart stammered in his chest and his mind blurred with questions and doubts. All eyes trained on him stared in wonder and befuddlement. None dared speak, except for one swordsmith's apprentice, a boy no older than the king himself, who cried out meekly, "Long live King Arthor!"

The sound of his name married to the tide king cramped his heart tighter in his chest, nearly squeezing all his breath out of him with astonishment. And if he could have, he would have blessed that smith's apprentice for not mocking him.

Merlin led the way down the hillside to Arthor's palfrey, which still held the youth's dented shield on its saddle peg. The...

Edition details

• Publisher: Eos
• Publication date: 1998
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0061053708
• ISBN 13: 9780061053702
• Binding: Paperback
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 352