The Dark Age

by Traci Harding

  ‘I shall do my very best to meet thy request, Rufus, but I cannot promise them alive without question.’ Maelgwn hoped the beast would see reason.

  Done. One shall meet thee and thy masters at the temple, presently.

  Brockwell spurred his horse on through the snow, heading down the valley trail to the ruins. He arrived at the site to witness the dragon departing overhead. ‘Maelgwn!’ he cried in vain, watching the huge beast soar to such a height that he could no longer see it through the cloud. Brockwell slouched in his saddle, disheartened.

  ‘Calin, why so glum?’

  Brockwell spun round to find Taliesin on the stairs of the temple. ‘I have failed the Lady Katren.’

  The High Merlin laughed wholeheartedly as he approached the young knight. Calin, feeling that Taliesin mocked his pain, folded his arms indignantly.

  ‘Thou art discouraged too easily, my young friend. Have I not told thee, where there be a will, there be a way.’

  ‘So thee will help me?’ Calin sprang off his horse to meet him.

  ‘Aye, but I do not know if thee will like the form of assistance I have to offer,’ Taliesin cautioned.

  ‘I will do anything.’ Calin fell on one knee before the High Merlin. ‘Just name it.’

  18

  ANGER TO AVENGE

  The tortured screams of anguished souls echoing up from the dungeon rooms mixed with the unearthly groans of the sick and dying. In light of the Queen’s performance in the throne room, Katren and Tory were escorted to their cell by several very large armed guards. Tory buried her fear under an indifferent facade, but in truth, she could never have imagined a more horrid place. The stench on its own was near fatal, and she thought it little wonder that half of the populace at Arwystli were diseased.

  Katren trembled so much she could barely walk. Yet she managed to hold her head high and not shed a single tear, even as the men they passed in the cells leered and grabbed for them. I must not fear, Calin will come for me. Katren only hoped there would be something left of her to save.

  The women were cast inside a dark tower, and the door was bolted shut behind them. They needed a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. A foul odour hung heavy in the still air, vexing their nostrils as the source was not far away.

  As Katren picked herself up from the floor, she heard the scratching sound of rats. ‘I think we should go upstairs, Majesty.’ She got to her feet, quickly helping Tory up.

  ‘I tend to agree,’ Tory said and looked up the stairs toward the caphouse, where glimmers of daylight could be seen.

  ‘Sorcha?’ said a voice.

  Tory and Katren both froze in horror.

  ‘Caradoc?’ Tory edged Katren to a safe position behind her.

  ‘Aye, sorceress, come to finish me?’ He inquired in a way that implied he couldn’t care less.

  Katren noticed something move in the shadows, back against the stone wall. Tory inched closer to investigate, despite Katren’s whispered protests. ‘Art thou hurt, sir?’

  ‘I feel nothing.’ Caradoc’s response was spiritless.

  Tory considered that it could be a trick. But when she saw him, she realised Prince Caradoc was no longer any threat. Katren shrieked when she saw the pile of skin and bone, covered in gashes and sores. Gangrene and maggots had besieged his body long ago, fuelled by the pool of filth from his own secretions, in which he lay. The rats had also enjoyed a feed. Katren, in spite of her loathing for the man, kicked the scavengers away.

  How on earth is this man still breathing? Tory asked herself. Surely not even the lowest of creatures deserves to die like this.

  ‘Well, come on. Do it! Be this not what thou hast always wanted, Mother dear, to rid thyself of thy greatest mistake?’ he yelled, overwhelmed by his contempt for her.

  Katren urged Tory back but the Queen only patted her hand, crouching down to look Caradoc in the eye. The man was obviously delirious and beyond pain. ‘Nay Caradoc, ’tis not true.’

  ‘Liar! Thou hast always favoured Maelgwn over me. Was it my fault I was conceived as I was? Nay! Yet thee drove me away.’

  Tory felt Sorcha’s presence upon her and motioned Katren away. ‘Upstairs.’

  ‘Nay, Majesty, I will not leave —’

  ‘Do as I say child!’ Tory roared in Sorcha’s voice and her own, startling Katren into complying at once. When she turned back to Caradoc, his mood had calmed somewhat and he stared wide-eyed at her angelic presence. ‘Dost thou not recall our time together when thou wast still a young boy? Before Cadfer got hold of thee, before the blood feud and the uprising, my sons were fast friends then.’

  ‘Aye, I do,’ Caradoc acknowledged, as if he could see his past before his eyes while they spoke. ‘I remember thee would read to us in the shade of the trees in the courtyard. Games, good food, friends … ’twas the best time of my life,’ he resolved with a distant smile.

  ‘The Goddess understands thy plight, Caradoc, and shall be lenient.’ At the mercy of Sorcha’s will, Tory administered a fatal blow.

  In the blink of an eye Sorcha was gone and Caradoc was dead on the ground at Tory’s feet; his nose had been broken at the bridge and smashed back into his brain. She stepped away from him, totally appalled by the deed. ‘Damn thee, Sorcha, I am sick of doing thy dirty work.’ As the rats took to the corpse, Tory’s nausea set in. ‘Get me out of this place.’ She burst into tears. The cramps in her stomach intensified until she was reduced to a huddle on the floor.

  ‘Majesty.’ Katren rushed down the stairs to her side, but the Queen’s eyelids were already closing. ‘Please, Majesty, don’t leave me on my own in this place.’ The maiden patted her cheeks, losing the battle to keep her conscious. ‘We must get thee upstairs.’ She hoisted the Queen upright and, struggling with the dead weight, dragged her towards the caphouse.

  Brockwell awaited the High Merlin in the hall outside one of the thousands of identical doors within his maze. Taliesin was having words with Brockwell’s transport, which was another winged beast — a griffin.

  It was said that the creatures were so fierce in appearance that one couldn’t help but be afraid of them, and if a griffin sensed fear it would devour thee at once. Thus Brockwell wasn’t really looking forward to the test, and he thought of Katren to save losing face. As luck would have it the griffin owed Taliesin a favour or two, so if Calin was dauntless when he met the beast he’d have his ride to Powys.

  Calin grew tried of pacing up and down the hall as it only served to make the delay all the more frustrating, so he took a seat on the floor and assumed a meditative position. He drew three long, deep breaths to seek the guidance and blessing of his forefathers. ‘Please protect my love until I can make it to her.’

  ‘Calin.’ The Merlin finally emerged.

  ‘What did it say?’ Brockwell jumped up to confront the news.

  ‘Thou art not going to like it, I fear.’

  ‘High Merlin please,’ Brockwell was eager to leave as the distance between himself and his King grew wider with every passing second.

  ‘The situation be this, thee must walk into the centre of the lair. If thee shows the slightest fear, the griffin will turn thee to stone for wasting its time, and thy spirit will remain entrapped thus for all eternity.’

  Brockwell looked to the ground to think a second. ‘I should rather be turned to stone trying, than risk a lifetime without her.’

  Taliesin smiled. ‘Bear that in mind and thou shalt do just fine.’

  Calin nodded in gratitude and cautiously approached the door.

  ‘A word of advice …’

  Brockwell looked back, thankful for any assistance the Merlin had to give.

  ‘Do not draw thy weapon, and think only the purest of thoughts. These beasts, although ferocious on the outside, art fools for sentiment deep down.’

  Brockwell nodded once again, turning the handle of the door that concealed his fate.

  The room was huge — a deep, dim expanse of stone and rock. So high was th
e roof, Calin could not view it and the wall around the door faded into nothingness on both sides. Torch-lit stairs led downward through the rocky terrain. No wonder the old man took so long, Brockwell concluded, as he began his descent into the beast’s dominion.

  Brockwell finally reached a large plateau of rock, and from its edge was a sheer drop to infinity down a rocky cliff face. The knight peered into the darkened shadows beyond the torch light. ‘Hello.’

  The sound of wings came from above like that of an eagle swooping down on its prey, only this was far louder. Calin looked up to behold the huge creature. Its head, chest and wings were feathered and it displayed the forelegs and talons of an eagle. This one, however, was about ten times larger than the average eagle, and was plummeting head first with its claws outstretched towards him.

  Brockwell’s first reaction was to draw his sword, but he refrained as advised. He waited until the beast was near upon him before ducking away from its sweeping grasp. Brockwell quickly turned to face the beast, so it would not think him trying to flee.

  It was only as the creature landed before him that Calin could observe the rest of its form. From its shoulders a metamorphosis took place; the griffin had the hindquarters of a lion, and tawny coloured fur covered the rest of its body. Although legend has it that these creatures have the tail of a serpent, Calin observed nothing more than the normal tufted tail of a lion. The only other unusual feature he could note was that on its eagle head it had the ears of a lion.

  The griffin had begun to circle him on all fours. It opened its huge beak and let loose a deep, loud roar, the force of which near blew him off the plateau. Brockwell roared right back at the beast grossly larger than himself, and continued to yell even after the beast’s roaring had ceased.

  Why art thou not afraid, when one plans to eat thee?

  Calin hushed as he heard the words and looked about him. ‘Did thou say something?’

  Nay. One be waiting around for the good of one’s health.

  The creature’s mouth made no movement, and Brockwell realised that he was not hearing with his ears, but with his mind. ‘Thou art bethinking me?’ Brockwell said with excitement, simply delighted with himself. ‘Excellent!’

  The griffin didn’t seem to share his rosy view, for a long, slow growl escaped its beak as it continued to circle. Answer one’s question … How be it that thou art not afraid?

  Calin shrugged. ‘Because thee will only eat me if I show fear.’

  Hah! Never listen to human beings. One said one would turn thee to stone if thee showed fear. One did not mention what one would do in other circumstances. The beast’s sinister laughter echoed through Brockwell’s brain, and the griffin chopped its beak a few times to emphasise the point.

  The Knight wasn’t alarmed, as he figured the creature was still testing him. ‘Thou art not going to eat me.’

  Why not? The creature snapped.

  ‘Because I am a warrior of the Triple Goddess. My quest be to the save the life of her greatest representative, thine sister the good Queen of Gwynedd, and my love, the Lady Katren, for they art being held captive by the savage Chiglas. Surely as a creature of the Goddess thee would rather make a meal of her foe, than her humble servant.’

  There art precious few of thy kind who art humble, the creature scoffed. One cares not about the affairs and occupants of the Middle Kingdoms, thou art all just as bad as one another.

  ‘Nay, thou art wrong.’ Brockwell was adamant as he strode forward to address the animal. ‘The two women whose lives I seek to save art the purest of souls. If thee could only know what I know of them.’ Calin’s eyes began to flood with tears as he recalled the fine times they’d seen since they’d been brought together, some six months ago. ‘I love them, understand! And I shall not allow thee to let them perish. They need us and thou art going to take me to them.’

  Calin noticed the tears that had filled the eyes of the huge animal. It plonked itself back onto its hind quarters and proceeded to cry like a baby.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Brockwell said, and he felt as awkward with the sobbing beast as he did with a weeping woman. ‘’Twas not my intent to upset thee.’

  Please stop, one cannot take it.

  ‘Stop what?’

  Thinking of her! So beautiful, so strong. The beast’s voice wavered with emotion. One hast decided to help thee, but thee must make me a promise in return. The creature’s sobbing subsided.

  ‘What kind of promise?’

  Wed the girl of thy heart and remain beholden to her alone for as long as ye both shall live.

  ‘But I want nothing more.’ Brockwell felt the request too easy.

  Should thee ever break this vow, thou shalt bequeath thy bountiful mate and all thy offspring to me, never again to lay eyes on them. Dost thou consent?

  In light of his promiscuous past, Brockwell took a moment to consider the proposal. Did he possess the willpower to meet the lifelong challenge? ‘I do.’

  Tory had regained consciousness, but she was still weaker than ever she’d felt before. From the barred windows of the prison tower, she and Katren observed the situation unfolding in the city below.

  Arwystli was similar in layout to Degannwy in that it housed a whole city inside its outer bailey walls, rather than just a castle. But as it did not have the same topographical protection Degannwy did, the city’s walls were higher than most other British strongholds. Many of Chiglas’ soldiers scurried to reinforce the outer and inner-bailey wall-walks, as Saxon troops came down from the outlying mountains and gathered outside the city.

  ‘I thought the Saxons were allied to Chiglas?’ Katren tried to assess what was happening.

  ‘It would seem they have had a falling out,’ Tory commented, as she heard the tower door downstairs open. She stood to address the impending confrontation, urging Katren behind her.

  ‘Nay Sensei, I am ready to fight,’ Katren insisted, fed up with being afraid.

  ‘Savour the element of surprise, Katren. They will not hesitate to kill thee. So, if I squeeze thy hand, I want thee to get down and stay down.’ Tory again pushed her into the background.

  Four large guards emerged, two bowmen and two swordsmen. They were accompanied by Vanora and the revived Sir Cadogan, who came over to stand opposite Tory.

  ‘Thee shall find the charm about her waist,’ Cadogan informed Vanora with malice.

  ‘Thou art a son-of-a-bitch, Cadogan! I do solemnly swear that thee shall not live to see this night fall.’ Tory seethed as the swordsmen stepped forward to take hold of her, the bowmen covering them from a safe distance.

  There be no pain, there be no fear. Tory squeezed Katren’s hand and lashed out at the first swordsman with a kick, knocking him back into his bowman and sending them both tumbling down the stairs.

  ‘Get the maid,’ Vanora instructed, frustrated by their incompetence.

  But Tory had already spun around to take out the other swordsman with a high kick to the side of his head, sending him on a collision course with the hard stone wall where he fell unconscious. There was a momentary pause, then the other bowman tried to get a clear shot at Katren, but Tory was too quick to resume her cover.

  Cadogan drew his sword and wielded it back and forth in warning.

  Vanora, as usual, sounded completely unaffected by it all. ‘The child in thy womb be dead anyway, thee may as well let it out.’

  ‘Like I would take thy word for it,’ Tory replied. He wasn’t dead, she could feel him fighting it, but god knows what damage the poison had already done to the tiny foetus. ‘What hast she promised thee, Cadogan? The same deal as Caradoc? For his loyalty he became a diseased banquet for the rats down below.’

  ‘Caradoc was a fool,’ Cadogan snarled; she’d hit a nerve.

  ‘Thou art the fool, Cadogan, for believing this juvenile capable of keeping her word.’

  That was it. Regardless of orders to the contrary, Cadogan swung his sword at her, mid-height, and there was no escaping the blow. Tory turned an
d ducked to avoid the blade making contact with her body, thus taking its full force in her upper left arm. The pain was real. She fell to her knees, gripping her arm as the blood gushed through her fingers.

  ‘Hold her,’ Cadogan ordered the guard as he hauled Katren aside by the hair and cast her across the room to the bowman.

  ‘Nay, Sir Cadogan please,’ Katren begged him. ‘Gwynedd took thee in when thee had no other. How can thee betray her like this?’

  Vanora, annoyed by Katren’s whimpering, slapped her hard across the face. ‘Save thy breath.’

  Katren spat at the Princess and for a moment they glared at each other, neither wavering.

  ‘Kill her,’ Vanora resolved, as she turned to see how Cadogan was doing.

  ‘Wait! We may still need her.’

  ‘Now what?’ Vanora was losing her cool.

  Cadogan, with a knife hard to Tory’s throat, dug through her layers of clothes to take hold of the charm. But it would not be pulled off. ‘It will not break, not even my steel can budge it.’

  ‘Curses!’ Vanora thumped her foot like the spoilt child she was. ‘Take it off!’ she demanded.

  ‘I cannot,’ Tory said, remaining very calm. ‘Only the Dragon himself can remove it, as he was the one who placed it there.’

  Vanora’s black eyes were filled with spite as they glared at her. ‘We shall see about that.’

  The sight of the Saxons raising the portcullis of the outer bailey at Arwystli was satisfying for the young King of Gwynedd, as he watched from the cover of a ridge.

  ‘Won’t be long now,’ Tiernan affirmed, speaking the King’s mind for all to hear.

  ‘Why do we not get the dragon to storm the castle before us,’ Angus wondered aloud. Since they had such a show of power, why weren’t they using it?

  ‘This dragon and myself art synonymous these days I’m afraid, and I want none to know of our presence,’ Maelgwn explained.

  The huge beast was rolling around in the snow like a dog with an itchy back. Ione applauded the antics of the creature, simply delighted by its play. She didn’t seem to fear it at all as she approached the dragon with a large forked stick to help relieve its frustration. The group of men nearly dropped dead when she served its thick scaled hide with a good scratch, right in the place it sought to reach. This was much to Rufus’ satisfaction, as his eyes rolled about in his head uncontrollably, his tongue hung out the side of his mouth, and his tail lashed about, kicking up more snow.