The Dark Age

by Traci Harding

  Vanora had slithered her way round the chamber during the scuffle, and now held a dagger at Lady Gladys’ throat. ‘Show thyself crone, or lose another member of thy family.’

  Caradoc smiled at Vanora. ‘I do adore thee at times.’

  ‘I know.’ Her black eyes were void of any emotion. ‘Finish the King thine own way.’

  Lightning tore through the storm clouds and the thunder boomed so loudly that Maelgwn thought it would burst his eardrums. The relentless rain made it impossible to see a thing; they could run straight into the enemy ranks and not realise. Still, Tiernan seemed to know where he was going and Maelgwn followed blindly, glad that Tory had got his physical fitness up to scratch.

  Maelgwn gave a thought for his horse, Aristotle, named after the scholar whose teachings the Prince respected greatly. He regretted that the magnificent animal had probably drowned or been stolen during the dreadful crossing.

  Fortunately, the wind was to their backs and seemed to be spurring them along. Maelgwn felt himself settling into a good rhythm as they cleared the thicker forest that boarded the shore of the Menai. But as they entered the more open expanse of land, Tiernan came to an abrupt stop.

  ‘Troops?’ the Prince leaned forward to catch his breath.

  A great flash of lightning lit up the area and Tiernan clapped his hands together, letting loose a laugh. ‘Behold, our own stampede.’

  Maelgwn followed Tiernan to inspect a group of horses. Aristotle grazed with about a dozen other horses that must have followed the black stallion from the barge. The animal looked up to watch the Prince approach, and shook its head as if to ask what had taken him so long.

  ‘I must say,’ Tiernan said, climbing onto his horse. ‘The Gods certainly seem to favour thee.’

  ‘Let us hope.’ The Prince sprang to his mount, wasting no time in getting the pack moving.

  Exhilarated, Maelgwn hugged close to Aristotle as they rode quickly towards Aberffraw. He let loose a war cry, inspired by the furious power he felt in the charge of these beasts; a whole army couldn’t stop them now.

  Brockwell moved silently through the darkness as his troops spread out to scour the land. He was enjoying stalking the enemy on foot as they were on familiar ground and under the cover of rain. Caradoc had only brought, at most, forty men with him when he’d accompanied the King to Aberffraw, and Brockwell had sent small parties back to pick them off, leaving a few legions to guard the house from the outer bailey.

  As he crept through the long undergrowth, Calin sought the strength and guidance of Gwyn ap Nudd, the Night Hunter. This Underworld King held the right of passage through darker realms, and always caught his prey before the light of dawn.

  They found the exhausted troops from Powys further inland, lying in wait for a dawn attack. Brockwell’s legions managed to catch them off guard, as they had expected to be the surprise this day. The sword of Rhydderch was not affected by the pouring rain, and as Brockwell blazed his way through his foe lightning began to shoot from the sky to slay them also. Gwynedd’s troops, inspired by the spectacle and freshly rested, fought vigorously against the enemy and finally had them on the run.

  The sound of horses’ hooves thundering through the darkness toward them sent Brockwell rushing to investigate. Sword retracted, he climbed the nearest tree and without thought for his own safety he made ready to jump.

  Bodies of the dead and dying were trampled under hoof as the pack of charging horses came bursting through the front line. Maelgwn wondered how Gwynedd was faring, as soldiers from both sides hurried out of the path of the stampede. As he hunched lower, heading into the forest, Maelgwn heard Brockwell’s familiar war cry. The knight came flying out of the tree overhead to land on a horse nearby. ‘Brockwell!’ Maelgwn cried, astonished.

  The knight, clearly having the time of his life, was ecstatic to find Maelgwn behind the brilliant ploy. ‘Maelgwn! Excellent!’ he yelled his approval loud enough to be heard over the noise of the horses, thunder and battle.

  ‘What art thou doing here, where be Tory?’ Maelgwn shouted.

  ‘Later,’ replied Brockwell, pushing his horse harder to catch up with Sir Tiernan. Calin slapped his greatest rival on the back.

  Tiernan smiled. ‘Where did thee come from?’ This kid never ceased to amaze him. Brockwell was totally fearless, much like himself ten years ago.

  ‘I be everywhere, old man,’ Brockwell teased King Caswallon’s champion, as he often did, taking off ahead of him.

  With the sword of Rhydderch held high, Brockwell rode towards the outer-bailey wall, its flaming blade a signal to raise the portcullis. The entire stampede ran inside the huge stone walls of the outer bailey. Brockwell, Tiernan and the Prince continued on to deal with Caradoc.

  ‘Where be Tory?’ Maelgwn demanded from Brockwell, beating him to a dismount. Brockwell hesitated but a second to reply before the Prince proceeded to shake it out of him. ‘Calin, answer me!’

  ‘She went to save thy father.’

  ‘Damn it!’ Maelgwn was gone before Brockwell was given a chance to explain.

  Tiernan, who could sympathise with the young knight’s position, gave him a slap of encouragement to get him back on track. ‘Thou hast done well this day,’ he assured Brockwell, who obviously felt he’d failed in his duty to his Prince. ‘But it be far from over yet.’

  Tiernan turned a corner in time to see Maelgwn enter the King’s chamber. Brockwell, who followed behind him, was distracted from their course by a scream coming from his own bedchamber. He burst through the door to discover Katren trying to wriggle free from beneath a huge warrior twice her size. The man was having some trouble trying to hold her still to rip open her gown. Katren was kicking violently, despite how hard she was struck for her struggle.

  Brockwell ran his glowing blade across the barbarian’s butt, which certainly served to raise him in a hurry. He grinned at the awestruck villain as he ran him through, and watched with satisfaction as his foe slid off his blade to the floor.

  Her virtue still intact, Katren pulled together her tattered clothes.

  Brockwell, not good at handling such delicate situations, thought best to make light of it. ‘What on Earth keeps possessing men to rip thy clothes from thy body and bruise thy lovely face, Katren?’ He held out a hand to help her from the bed.

  Katren declined his help, a little upset but stable. ‘I be fine, Sir Brockwell, really, and I do thank thee. But there be nothing but a torn dress to cry over here. Please, the King be more important, thee should make haste to him.’

  Brockwell was stunned by her resolve as he backed up to the door; most women would have been hysterical after such a violent attack. Katren was truly one of Tory’s ilk. ‘Thou art right.’ He opened the door to leave. ‘Besides, I quite fancy thee there.’

  Having been dragged into the room under force, Katren didn’t understand his meaning at first. But when she realised she was in Sir Brockwell’s room, she smiled, exalted, and collapsed back onto his bed in a state of bliss.

  With only a split second to decide between the life of the already comatose King and Lady Gladys, it was the latter Tory chose to save from harm. Her invisible blade left its imprint on Vanora’s jugular, and the Princess released her captive when Tory threatened to cut her throat.

  ‘Caradoc,’ Sorcha’s voice loudly hissed in caution, hoping to dissuade him from hurting the King. ‘I care not for thy whore.’

  Lady Gladys, not unaccustomed to harassment, retrieved the dagger from Vanora and threatened her with it. ‘Foolish child, thou art dealing with forces whose power be way beyond thy feeble skills and understanding.’

  Caradoc paused only a moment to consider his priorities, and unfortunately he did not care for his lover as much as Tory had hoped. Even though she near flew to the King’s aid, Tory was not fast enough to stop Caradoc from running Caswallon through. ‘Damn thee to hell!’ She booted him away with all the might she could muster, so he couldn’t repeat the offence.

  ‘He be m
ine,’ Maelgwn’s voice resounded throughout the chamber.

  With the King’s blood dripping from his sword, Caradoc raised himself. ‘At last — thou art next, monk.’ Caradoc lunged at his brother with his blade.

  The Prince effortlessly blocked Caradoc’s sword with his own. ‘Thy Saxon thugs have fled in fear, Chiglas’ armies art massacred,’ Maelgwn informed him, looking as if he’d been to hell and back. ‘Now thee will pay along with thy vomitus scum.’ He lashed out with a powerful kick that thrust his brother clear out of the room.

  Caradoc’s free-wheeling form nearly collided with Tiernan, who was about to enter. Maelgwn was upon his brother, not giving him the chance to rise. He dug his boot into Caradoc a couple of times before dragging the traitor to his feet.

  ‘Ah, brotherly love,’ Tiernan said, amused.

  Maelgwn ripped the sword from his overwhelmed foe and cast his own aside, experiencing far more satisfaction in a bare-handed assault. ‘What be wrong, dear brother?’ The Prince referred to Caradoc’s astounded expression. ‘I do not fight like a monk now, do I?’ Maelgwn belted him with kicks and blows, all the way down the hall.

  Brockwell came racing down the corridor to assist, but Tiernan stopped him and stood back to observe the Prince’s new and intriguing form of hand-to-hand combat. Though Tiernan found the skills very much to his liking, he left Maelgwn to his fun to seek out the welfare of his King.

  Upon entering the chamber, Sir Tiernan rushed to the bed where the King lay in a pool of his own blood. By some miracle, Caswallon was still coherent and aware of the goings on around him.

  ‘Did we win?’ The King’s eyes could no longer focus, yet he knew the one who gripped his hand to be his champion and dear friend.

  Tiernan kept the tears from his voice. He saw that the King was fading from life as they spoke. ‘Aye Majesty, thy son hast done thee proud this day, against unbelievable odds. I dare say, Gwynedd will not be troubled for a long time to come.’

  ‘Chiglas lives.’ The King strained to convey his warning, coughing blood. ‘Guard Maelgwn, guide him …’ There was so much he wanted to tell his son, but now it was too late; the effort was far too great for his failing lungs.

  Tiernan begged him to hush, hoping Maelgwn would arrive at his father’s bedside in time.

  Brockwell, having liberated the imprisoned castle guards from the room across the hall, ordered them to take Vanora out of his sight before he killed her. He embraced his harrowed mother then quickly spun around, calling out with concern, ‘Tory, how dost thou fare?’

  Tory, who was right beside him, lifted the mantle from her shoulders. ‘Thee will not be rid of me so easily.’

  He grasped hold of her, relieved to find her unharmed. ‘I never wish to be rid of thee.’

  He regarded her with that same alarming glint in his eye, which did not escape the attention of his mother. As Katren humbly approached the doorway, Tory broke away from Brockwell and rushed to embrace her friend. ‘Katren, art thou alright?’ She held the girl at arm’s length to check her over. ‘I was so worried when I came up a guard short in battle.’

  Katren smiled meekly, glancing to Calin. ‘Sir Brockwell came to my aid in time to preserve my honour.’ She blushed slightly, recalling his last words to her.

  Tory followed Katren’s coy look to catch Calin’s bashful reaction. How appropriate, she considered. I can see that I’ll not have to worry about Calin’s admiring glances for much longer. With Tory’s mind set partly at ease, Sorcha resumed wilful control and guided Tory to the bedside of the King.

  Tiernan was startled by Tory’s touch, and his eyes opened wide in amazement as he looked at her.

  ‘I shall take it from here,’ the young woman told him calmly in Sorcha’s voice. So close in image to his Queen was she, that he fell on one knee before her. In his mind, Sorcha was still the only woman Tiernan considered worth dying for. In fact, the knight had willed death upon himself when he hadn’t been there to prevent her from being slain.

  ‘The prophecy,’ he uttered, head bowed low to the ground in homage to her presence.

  ‘Aye.’ She bent down, lifting his face to look at him. ‘My devout Sir Tiernan, and we bless thee for thy part.’

  Tiernan, exulted to have met with the touch of a Goddess, backed away to give the couple some space.

  Lady Gladys drew Katren under one arm for comfort as they witnessed the King’s passing. Though Katren didn’t understand much of what was happening, she felt moved to be so intimate with the royal family.

  Tory took a seat on the King’s bed, and in the room so dimly lit she glowed with angelic grace. As she took up Caswallon’s hand in her own, his eyes opened wide at her touch.

  ‘Sorcha,’ he said, a smile of peaceful delight lighting his wrinkled old face. He stared not directly at Tory but at a space just above her head, and it was plain to all present that the King was addressing his dear wife.

  ‘Indeed Caswallon, I have come for thee at last,’ she assured him, resting a hand on his cheek. ‘It be time to leave this rare and gracious woman to the care of our fair son. It be his time now, my love, and like his father before him, he will be a formidable king. Come,’ she beckoned with a soft smile.

  Caswallon reached up, and to those who bore witness to the scene it appeared that the King simply went to her. As his earthly vessel collapsed back onto the bed, the King’s expression was one of peace and contentment.

  Sir Brockwell was moved to tears by the sad occurrence, and waited a few minutes before he approached to comfort Tory in the wake of the ordeal. To his surprise, however, she hushed him away.

  Tory continued to stare into the King’s lifeless face, as if listening to him speak. She gestured now and then to acknowledge the words that none in the room, apart from herself, could hear. When she finally sat back, Tory looked up at the ceiling and took in a deep breath. ‘He hast gone,’ she announced, her head bowing low in silent respect.

  ‘Long live King Maelgwn,’ Tiernan said softly, overcome by what he’d seen. The others repeated this with conviction.

  Maelgwn, dropping the bound and beaten body of Caradoc in the doorway, drew the attention of all present. Tory would have run to him at once, but she suddenly felt as if she would faint.

  The Prince’s face was filled with remorse having heard the announcement, and it was Lady Gladys who came forward to console him. ‘Thy mother came for him, Maelgwn. ’Twas lovely.’

  ‘Aye. ’Twas her.’ Tiernan braced the Prince’s shoulder firmly. ‘He died a very proud and happy man.’

  Maelgwn gently loosened himself from them and approached the bed where Tory sat with her hand in his father’s, tears rolling down her cheeks. The Prince had only to look into his father’s face to see that the end had been peaceful.

  As he crouched down to address her, Tory reached out with trembling hands to touch his face. She battled to hold herself together, and she had to force out every word. ‘He left thee a message.’ She so badly wanted to convey it, but her body gave in and she collapsed unconscious into Maelgwn’s awaiting arms.

  Distant voices filled Tory’s dreams and she stirred from her slumber a few hours later.

  ‘As I told thee, ’twas just the exhaustion of channelling. She’ll be as right as rain, now.’

  Tory opened her eyes upon recognising the Merlin’s distinguished tone, and sat up. ‘Taliesin, thou art here!’

  ‘Easy does it,’ he advised with a smile. ‘I be the bearer of grand news.’

  Even Taliesin’s calming aura was not enough to allay her at once, and she took a strong hold of his hand. ‘We won?’

  ‘Indeed we did.’

  ‘But I failed the test, I did not save the King.’

  Taliesin laughed away her anxieties. ‘Dear lady, that was not the purpose of thy quest. Why, even as we speak, the folk of Gwynedd are singing your praises and throughout the land you are being hailed as a warrior Goddess.’

  Tory grinned modestly. ‘That’s ludicrous!’


  Nay, it be all important if you truly love Maelgwn, Taliesin thought, and although he did not say it out loud, Tory heard every word, clear as a bell. She frowned in question. ‘More about that later,’ he said. ‘Meanwhile, there be an exhausted young man who hast been patiently awaiting a word with thee.’

  Taliesin stood, bowing to Maelgwn as he came forth out of the shadows. ‘I shall leave thee to talk. Talk, mind,’ the Merlin cautioned the Prince. ‘It would be wise not to anger those who bestowed such a beauteous paragon upon thee.’

  The Prince was deeply grateful for all his mentor’s support this day, but it seemed that the bard never ceased his lecturing. ‘Taliesin, old friend, I understand the behaviour I am required by privilege to uphold. Thou hast prepared me well for what lies ahead, and may rest easy that I shall not jeopardise the future of Gwynedd.’

  ‘The land shall unite and prosper upon thy crowning, Maelgwn.’ Taliesin admired his work in the form of the young King to be. ‘I will leave thee and shall speak with thee both in the courtroom at thy leisure.’ The Merlin headed back downstairs to tend to the many affairs of state that needed his attention.

  Maelgwn opened wide the caphouse doors to behold a glorious sunrise. The clouds had departed, along with their enemy, and a rainbow now sparkled over the land. ‘My court advisers and bards tell me that thou hast been brought back from the future by the spirits of the Otherworld, to guide and protect …’ Tory rolled her eyes and made ready to object, but Maelgwn raised a hand to prevent it. ‘Please, hear me out. I have pondered these words too many days now, and I shall surely go mad if thou dost not allow me to speak them.’ The Prince beckoned for her to join him as he stepped outside.

  The inflection of his voice, so anxious and heartfelt, had Tory fascinated. ‘Maelgwn? I am sorry. I promise I am listening now … to guide and protect …’

  Maelgwn smiled, as he began to walk with her. ‘I need thee to understand why the people here in Gwynedd, who mainly be of the old faith, consider thee a Goddess. To them, the days of such extraordinary feats executed by a female be long past with the days of Gaul. Even then a woman would have had to earn the right to carry such a title. A good thing too, or I could never ask of thee what I will.’