Book Description
The legends of King Arthur come alive with a Christian world-view in these masterfully told adventures. These new editions contain new maps and other new material.


Download Description
E-Book Extra: "Stephen R. Lawhead on." (The writing process; The Atlantis/Britain connection; Whether or not Arthur existed, etc.)His coming had been foretold in the songs of the bard Taliesen and prepared for by the magic of Merlin. He was Arthur -- Pendragon of the Island of the Mighty -- who would rise to legendary greatness in war-torn Britain; who would usher in an era of peace and prosperity; who would fall in a desperate attempt to save his beloved.They called him unfit to rule, a lowborn, callow boy, Uther's bastard.But his coming bad been foretold in the songs of the bard Taliesin. And be had learned powerful secrets at the knee of the mystical sage Merlin. He was Arthur -- Pendragon of the Island of the Mighty -- who would rise to legendary greatness in a Britain torn by violence, greed, and war; who would usher in a glorious reign of peace and prosperity; and who would fall in a desperate attempt to save the one be loved more than life.


From the Author
Stephen R. Lawhead is an internationally acclaimed author of fantasy and imaginative fiction. He is the author of many book, including, the Byzantium and the Pendragon Cycle series. He lives in Oxford, England, with his wife and sons


From the Back Cover
An enchanting tale of love and loss, glory and grandeur, set in the twilight of Rome's power . . . Where the Celtic chieftains of Britain battle to save their land from an onrushing darkness. . . . In this modern classic, Stephen Lawhead presents a majestic retelling of Western literature's most compelling epic. The Sword of Britain. While many strove to claim it, one hand alone could remove the blade of Kingship from its stone sheath. He came -- a raw youth among ambitious lords too blind to recognize their king. He came -- to a Britain divided, ripe for conquest by barbarian hordes. The songs of Taliesin the master bard had foretold his rising. The vision of Merlin the prophet would guide him. He was Arthur, Pendragon of the Isle of the Mighty. His courage would be lauded; his enemies, legion; his reign, legendary. Under Arthur, by wisdom as much as might, Britain would unite. Through Arthur would arise a kingdom of peace, prosperity, and righteousness -- the long-awaited Kingdom of Summer. Yet, in the midst of flourishing virtue, an evil would arise to challenge Britain's most brilliant Crown. . . . Arthur is book three in the Pendragon Cycle. Look for Taliesin and Merlin, books one and two in this award-winning Arthurian series by Stephen Lawhead.


About the Author
Stephen R. Lawhead is an internationally acclaimed author of mythic history and imaginative fiction. His works include the first two books of the Celtic Crusades, The Iron Lance and The Black Rood; Byzantium; the Pendragon Cycle; the Song of Albion and Dragon King trilogies; and the science fiction novels Empyrion I and II and Dream Thief.


Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
1
Arthur is no fit king Uthers bastard, Merlins pawn, he is lowborn and a fool. He is wanton and petty and cruel. A glutton and a drunkard, he lacks all civilized graces. In short, he is a sullen, ignorant brute.
All these things and more men say of Arthur. Let them.
When all the words are spoken and the arguments fall exhausted into silence, this single fact remains: We would follow Arthur to the very gates of hell and beyond if he asked it. And that is the solitary truth.
Show me another who can claim such loyalty.
Cymbrogi, he calls us: companions of the heart, fellow countrymen.
Cymbrogi! We are his strong arm, his shield and spear, his blade and helm. We are the blood in his veins, the hard sinew of his flesh, the bone beneath the skin. We are the breath in his lungs, the clear light in his eyes, and the song rising to his lips. We are the meat and drink at his board.
Cymbrogi! We are earth and sky to him. And Arthur is all these things to us and more.
Ponder this. Think long on it. Only then, perhaps, will you begin to understand the tale I shall tell you.
How not? Who, besides the Emrys himself, knows as much as I? Though I am no bard, I am worthy. For I know Arthur as few others do; we are much alike, after all. We are both sons of uncertain birth, both princes unacknowledged by our fathers, both forced to live our lives apart from clan and kin.
My father was Belyn, Lord of Llyonesse. My mother was a serving woman in the kings house. I learned early that I would receive nothing from my fathers hand and must make my own way in the world.
I was little more than a boy when Myrddin agreed to make me his steward, but I have regretted not one day. Even through those long years of his madness, when I searched the hidden ways of wide Celyddon alone, I desired nothing but to be once more what I had been: servant and companion to Myrddin Emrys, Chief Bard in the Island of the Mighty.
I, Pelleas, prince of Llyonesse, will tell all as I have seen it And I have seen much indeed.
Are you certain, Myrddin? Arthur whispers, anxiously. Everyone is watching. What if it will not work?
It will, as you say, work. Just do as I have told you.
Arthur nods grimly and steps up to the great keystone where the sword stands, its naked blade stuck fast in the heart of the stone.
The yard is mostly empty now. Those going in to Urbanus mass have done so. It is cold, the day dwindling towards dusk. A few small snowflakes drift out of the darkening sky, to fall on the flagged stone pavement at our feet. Our breath hangs in clouds above our heads.
It is the eve of the Christ Mass, and the lords of Britain have come to Londinium to hold council as they do nearly every year to essay who among them might become High King.
Fifteen years have come and gone since the sword was first placed there. Now the once-fine steel is rusted, the stone weathered and stained. But the eagle-carved amethyst in the hilt still glows, its imperial fire undiminished.
Macsen Wledigs sword it is. The Sword of Britain. Emperor Maximus once owned the sword and Constantine, Constans, Aurelius, and Uther after him, each in his turn High King of Britain.
Yes, fifteen years have come and gone since that first council. Fifteen years of darkness and unceasing strife, of dissent, disappointment, and defeat. Fifteen years in which the Saecsens have grown strong once more. Fifteen years for a boy to grow to manhood.
A young man now, he stands grim-faced gazing at the sword thrust deep into the stone hesitant, uncertain.
Take it, Arthur, Merlin tells him. It is your right.
Arthur reaches slowly for the bronze hilt. His hand shakes. Cold? Fear? A little of both, perhaps.
He grasps the hilt and glances at Merlin, who nods silently. He drops his eyes and draws a breath, taking courage, steeling himself for whatever will happen.
Arthurs fingers tighten on the silver-braided hilt: See how naturally it fits his hand! He pulls.
The Sword of Britain slides from its stone sheath. The ease with which this is accomplished shines in the wonder in Arthurs eyes. He truly cannot believe what he has done. Nor can he comprehend what it means.
Well done, Arthur. Merlin steps to the stone beside him, and Arthur, without thinking, offers the sword to him. No, son, he says gently, truly, it is yours.
What should I do? Arthurs voice is unsteady, rising. Myrddin, you must tell me what to do! Else I am lost.
Merlin places a calming hand on Arthurs shoulder. Why do you fear, my son? I have ever been with you. God willing, it will always be so. They turn together and walk into the church.
Yes, we have ever been with him, it is true. I cannot remember a day when we were not. Even so, it is difficult difficult to believe that the young man standing on the threshold of the church has not simply stepped full-grown from out of a hollow hill, or an enchanted pool in Celyddon Forest.
That Arthur has not always existed seems odd to me. Like the wind on the moors and the wild winter stars, surely he has always lived and always will.
Arthur, with his keen blue eyes and hair of burnished gold, his ready smile and guileless countenance. Wide and heavy of shoulder, long of limb, he towers above other men, and though he does not yet know the power of his stature, he is aware that smaller men become uneasy near him. He is handsomely knit, in all; fair to look upon.

ANNOTATION

Merlin, like his father Taliesin, had long dreamed of the Kingdom of Summer, a peaceful union of England's fragmented fiefdoms by a High King who would be both just and firm. To achieve this dream, Merlin must find and train the boy whose birth the stars foretold--young Arthur.

FROM THE PUBLISHER