“It is a sacred trust,” the mercenary replied, “And I swear by all the gods that I will never betray the Raven Boy, not now nor ever.”
“Then see that you keep your oath,” the dragon warned in a low voice that, in a way, was more menacing than his flame-driven roars. “For there will be no hiding place for you if you harm my Dragon Rider in anyway.”
“I seek the Spell Name of the Dark Lord,” the mercenary said also in a quiet voice.
That surprised the dragon for if it was true then it was a most dangerous task but one that would most certainly be of great importance to the Raven Boy.
“The Dark Lord’s power would be deeply weakened if what you say is true.” Draago agreed.
“I will seek it but I cannot promise that I will find it. Only that I will try,” Archer said and even Draago had concede that there was the ring of truth in the way that the mercenary spoke.
“And where will you hunt for this knowledge?” The dragon asked.
“Wherever it may lie,” Archer replied, “Be it in the heights of the Mountains or in the depths of the Underworld. There I will seek it.”
“It is a perilous undertaking,” Draago said to the grim faced mercenary, “And one that may well cost you your life.
Archer shrugged his shoulders, “Dragon, I have much blood on my hands. If I must die to wash some of it away then so be it.”
Against his best instincts Draago was beginning to trust the man. He would never like the mercenary but he too had been spared by the Raven Boy when it would have been as easy for the boy enchanter to have killed him. Perhaps it was indeed the same for Archer and he too had been truly turned against the Dark Lord by the Raven Boy’s mercy.
“Go, Archer,” Draago told him, “Live or die in your quest. For the sake of Camelot and Avalon I hope that you are successful. And Archer….”
The mercenary had been turning to leave but once again moved back to face the fire breathing dragon.
“Beware the Blood Riders,” the dragon warned, “The Dark Lord will raise more of those Spawns of Hell and they will know only too well of your betrayal of their Master. They will come seeking you.”
Archer nodded his head in agreement for this was something that he had also been only too aware of. “When you see the Raven Boy, will you tell him what I do?” He asked.
“If he summons me I will,” Draago answered.
Archer picked up his bow and quiver and made an awkward bow to Draago, “Fare thee well, Dragon,” he said.
Draago, last of his race, the last of the Dragon Kind bent his neck in reply, “Fare thee well, Archer.”
The dragon watched the one-time mercenary as the man climbed down the steep and rocky path from Dragons’ Keep. He doubted very much that he would ever see Archer again. Those who crossed the Dark Lord and his Dark Magic did generally not have long to live and this mercenary had the look of a man who had been marked out for death.
CHAPTER SIX
THE SKIES OVER AVALON
The skies around the borders of Avalon were not behaving as skies should. Inside the boundaries of Mithras’ altars the atmosphere was blue with small white clouds that threw, from time to time, a light moving shadow over Camelot. But beyond Avalon it was a very different matter for here the sky was black with purple clouds that fought as if to break free from some giant hand that twisted and wrenched at them. Lightning flashed and then broke away to scorch the earth below as it seared down from the heavens. Thunder rolled back and forth with each peel being louder than its predecessor so that it built up to a cacophony of sound that could only have come from Hell itself.
There was great enchantment here for this was the power of the Dark Lord and he was now seeking to reach into the depths Underworld itself. This was no small magic from a demon enchanter for this Dark Magic could only belong to one of the Great Lords of the Dark and possibly only to the greatest of all of them. The Dark Lord saw all and everything that he wished to see, all except one thing or rather one person and that was the Raven Boy. For all his power the Dark Lord could not now overlook the Raven Boy nor, it now seemed, any of his friends and allies.
He had scryed the boy and his friends just the once before but now his globe was dark and would not show the Raven Boy to him even though he cast the most powerful enchantments that he knew. Either the boy had the Power to hide himself in Plain Sight or there was a most powerful being that could shield him. The power was that of the Old Magic and this confused the Dark Lord for he believed that all the Old Magic had left Avalon and Britannia as the Roman legions had departed taking the Elder gods with them.
Mithras’ altars carried protection, as they always had, to Avalon but they were crumbling and falling into disuse so that even now the Circle of Protection was broken and the Dark Magic could, by a great effort, break through. Even so the Dark Lord knew that Camelot was still protected and he believed that it could only be by the Old Magic of Galapas or the Raven Boy. Camelot’s High Mage Galapas, the Dark Lord drove the thought immediately from his mind, Galapas did not have the Old Magic, and in fact the mage had never had the Old Magic and never would for he was mortal-born. He was a gifted enchanter but nothing more so that left only the Raven Boy.
Once again the Dark Lord tried to look deep into Avalon and Camelot, he could see far towards Camelot Castle and the rolling green plains of Avalon but once again there were parts that he could not see. The Great Stones of Avalon were now hidden from his sight as was Mo Dhachaidh the home of Galapas.
There were also areas in the hard granite mountains just inside Avalon’s borders that were hidden by a powerful enchantment and this the Dark Lord could not understand for this was undoubtedly the power of a god. This frustrated the Dark Lord for he knew that this should not be and he let out a roar of frustration that drowned out the sound of the thunder itself. For a moment the dark clouds swirled so that they took on the aspect of the Dark Lord himself. The hideous face stretched for miles and then it was gone and the thunder gathered itself once more so that it could roll around Avalon ever seeking a way in for its Dark Master.
Now the Dark Lord had other matters on his mind, concentrating all his powers he sent his mind and very presence out to the Dark Realms were no mortal is allowed to pass and where no being, whether a god or not, would seek to go. This was, once again, the Underworld and it was a living Hell for the demons and creatures of the Dark that were bound there. Here among the inhabitants of Hell were the mortal spirits that had acted, in their lifetimes, with such a bloodlust and depravity that it had been deemed that they should never enter the House of the Dead but be bound to the chains and fires of the Underworld for all of Time.
Here there were those who had been great kings and conquerors who should have been shining examples to the World of Men, indeed some of them had, at first, seemed to be exactly that. They had gleamed as Beacons of Light as they rode and conquered huge swathes of their known world. But with absolute power had come absolute evil and they had turned into debauched tyrants who fed on the blood of those that they had conquered. In the end they had lost everything that they had gained and were taken, at their death to the deepest realms of the Underworld so that they might suffer for eternity to recompense some of the pain and hurt that they had brought to their subjects.
These were the men, for it was invariably men that the Dark Lord sought to call to him. Even his great powers struggled to summon these abominations for they were bound and chained by shackles of fire from the Depths of Hell itself. The Dark Lord could summon only four of these Blood Riders for that was all that even his great powers could call forth. But these were demons that would bring, as they had once done in their own lifetimes, great suffering and death to the World of Men.
As the manacles fell away the demons screamed with such intensity that the Underworld shook as if seized by a mighty earthquake. The demons were gaunt and ran with the living flames that was the Dark Magic of the Dark Lord himself. The Dark Lord had also created skeletal horses o
f bone to carry his Blood Riders for no living beast could touch these Dark Beings and live. The steeds also ran with fire for they had no muscles or flesh to hold them together but only the Dark Enchantment of the Dark Magic.
With a howl that could have issued from no living man these four dread Blood Riders burst from the Underworld and rode as demons to the World of Men and their Dark Lord’s bidding. There was a great potential here for much killing and desolation in this land of Avalon where men, woman and children lived and the Dark Lord’s Blood Riders revelled in it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AVALON
THE GREAT STONES
Merlin stood in the middle of the Great Stones of Avalon and then he started to move. It could have been that he was dancing but he was not. The moves were graceful and fluid and he was perfectly balanced. It was one of those warm, perfect days that seemed to occur less frequently now in Avalon and the boy was starting to sweat with exertion but he knew that he must not stop.
Gradually the moves became faster and fire leapt from his hands. The flames twisted and turned between the tall Standing Stones but never touched them. The fire hung in the air like some expanded cat’s cradle as it was intricately woven in and out of itself. Then the mood of the boy became faster and more aggressive and fireballs flew through the arches made by the lintels of the Great Stones of Avalon but did not touch any of them being perfectly guided by the boy. The fire looped back to join the boy and hung over him as if waiting for his next command. The boy started to spin with his arms outstretched and his wrists bent upwards so that his palms faced outwards. Faster and faster the boy spun as the fire and flames imitated his movement above his head. Then suddenly the boy stopped and looking down he dropped to one knee and brought his arms closer to his body. The fire once again obediently followed and hung over the boy as if waiting for its master’s command.
Merlin looked up and flung out his arms and the intricately burning strands once again followed his order. Huge swathes of flames leapt and tumbled around the Circle that was made by the Great Stones of Avalon. Once again the Stones were not singed or burnt as the fire twisted itself to avoid contact with them. To anyone watching it would look as if the whole of the circle of the Great Stones of Avalon was awash with fire. Then the boy jumped up onto the oldest stones that stood at the centre of the Great Stones. These were known as the Dragons’ Teeth for once, many millennia before, dragons had walked there. The boy stood panting hard and gradually lifted his arms so that the fire formed a pavilion over both him and the whole of the Circle of the Great Stones. With an imperious gesture the boy brought his arms back towards himself and made a sharp movement as if extinguishing a candle. The flames turned and roared back towards their creator so that all the fire seemed to flow back into the boy from whence it had come.
All was quiet except for the harsh breathing of the boy enchanter as he struggled to regain his breath. He bent over forcing more air into his lungs for a full minute and a half. Then he pushed the damp, dark hair back from his face and gave one of his rare smiles.
It would have been a revelation to those who did not know him well for the smile softened the boy’s face and for a moment his resemblance to his mother, Princess Ailidh, could plainly be seen. Merlin jumped down from the Dragon’s Teeth landing lightly on his feet and walked over to the edge of the Great Stones. A raven flew down to join him, Kraak, King of the Raven Kind had been very careful to keep a good distance from Merlin’s fire as he had had no intention of getting his feathers singed. All the talking animals of Avalon were large and it was by the power of Merlin’s great father, the Elder god Mithras Invictus, that the animals could talk, and Kraak was no exception. The King of the Raven Kind was as large as an eagle and a very big eagle at that.
Merlin was still breathing heavily and the sweat was dripping down his face in rivulets as once again he pushed the dark hair away from his eyes.
“Well, Kraak, what do you think?” The boy asked.
“It is good, Raven Boy,” the raven replied, “But why do you practise such skills?”
Merlin was breathing a little easier now and a look of concern crossed his face, “You’ve still heard nothing of the Dark Lord, Kraak?”
“Nothing,” Kraak replied.
Merlin continued to wipe the sweat from his eyes, “He is there, Kraak, and he is waiting, I know it.”
“The Raven Kind will continue to search, Raven Boy but we have not seen anything of him or the mercenary or the dragon.”
“I know you will search,” Merlin replied, “But I am certain that the Dark Lord is there hovering just outside our plain sight. Perhaps I should speak with my father.”
Kraak wasn’t sure that this was such a good idea, Mithras Invictus did not like being disturbed and the Elder god had a ferocious temper.
“Is that wise?” The King of the Raven Kind asked mildly.
“Probably not,” Merlin conceded, “But if Camelot and Avalon’s safety depend upon it then that is what I must do.”
“Your father…..” Kraak continued but Merlin cut him short.
“Ssssh,” Merlin put his finger to his lips signalling that the raven should remain quiet. There was a slight rustling behind one of the Great Stones on the opposite side of the Circle and Merlin had a pretty good idea as to who or rather what is was.
The fireball leapt from Merlin’s hand and hung spinning over the Great Stone, then it spun ever faster so that drops of fire cascaded down and burnt fiercely wherever they landed.
The figure that leapt out was not a pretty sight, its tattered clothes were smoking and burning so that it seemed as if so many candles were hidden in the rags that it wore. With a desperate flapping of its hands it tried to put out the patches of fire on its clothes. Any sensible being would have looked for some water to extinguish the flames but this was not a sensible being. This was a ghoul and all ghouls, and this one in particular, hated water. This ghoul was called Grim and if there was a prize for being the worst smelling ghoul in all of Creation then Grim would have won it hands down.
Desperately the ghoul hopped from foot to foot as it continued to flap its hands at its still smoking rags.
“Grim, are you spying on me,” Merlin actually had a lot of time for the ghoul but would never have admitted that to the shabby and very smelly figure.
Finally Grim decided that he had put out all the flames that still burned in his clothes. The ghoul couldn’t be burnt alive as he had already been dead for at least a couple of hundred years.
“Are you spying on me?” Merlin repeated while trying to keep his face stern.
“Would Grim do such a thing?” the smelly ghoul asked in his most innocent voice.
“Of course you would,” Merlin told him, “You always do.”
Grim looked suitably hurt, “Grim brings a message for the Raven Boy,” he replied, “But Raven Boy is throwing hurting balls. Grim does not like hurting balls so Grim hides away,” the ghoul finished rather ineffectually.
“A message,” Merlin queried.
“Yes, a message,” Grim replied.
“A message from who?”
Grim decided that it was his turn to be annoying, “Grim is not sure,” he told the boy.
“If you don’t remember very quickly,” Merlin warned the ghoul, “There’s another hurting ball coming your way, a very, very large hurting ball. One…two…three…” Merlin started to count to ten and Grim was well aware what that meant.
“No, no, no,” Grim started to back away but he knew that he could not outrun the Raven Boy’s hurting balls. “Grim remembers now,” the ghoul said as Merlin continued to count. “It is from the Mountain Spirits.”
Merlin almost shouted in exasperation, “But what is the message, Grim?” He asked.
Grim realised that if he didn’t stop annoying Merlin the promised very, very large hurting ball would be coming his way in short order. It was definitely the time to stop fooling around.
“Grim remembers, yes,” the ghoul
said in desperation, “The Mountain Spirits send message to the Raven Boy that the Blood Riders have crossed Avalon’s Outer Mountains.”
“Are you sure that this is what they said?” Merlin queried while pulling back his arm as if to throw another hurting ball.
“Yes, yes,” Grim whined getting ready to duck behind the relative safety of one of the Great Stones. “No more hurting balls please, Raven Boy.”
Kraak had been listening intently to the ghoul’s story, “I thought that you and Draago had destroyed the Blood Riders,” the King of the Raven Kind queried.
“We did,” Merlin told him, “Draago burnt them with his dragon’s fire so that I could destroy them with the Spell of Destruction. The Dark Lord must have summoned more from the Underworld and that will have taken an awful lot of his power.”
“If the Blood Riders have crossed the mountains,” Merlin said to himself as much as to Kraak, “Then the Dark Lord will not be far behind.”
“The Dark Lord will not come alone.” Kraak agreed.
“He will not,” Merlin said grimly in reply, “He will bring his Army of the Dead with him.” The boy enchanter turned back to the ghoul, “Grim, you did really well.”
Grim could almost not believe that the Raven Boy was paying him a compliment, “Grim has done really well,” he said as if savouring the words.
“Really well,” Merlin repeated. “Now return to the Mountain Spirits and give them the Raven Boy’s thanks. Can you do that for me Grim?”
The ghoul nodded his head so hard in his agreement that it looked for a moment as if it was going to fall off his shoulders, then he turned and half ran, half hopped away from the Great Stones.
Merlin turned back to Kraak, “This is not good, not good at all,” he told the King of the Raven Kind.
“It is not,” the raven agreed, “I will go to summon the Raven Kind. What will you do, Raven Boy?”
Merlin and the Land of Mists: Book Two: The Minotaur Page 4
