The Dark Age

by Traci Harding

  ‘Ione, it be time,’ the King called her back to the others, who pulled black masks over their faces.

  Maelgwn drew his new steel sword and held it out before him, then the others brought theirs to rest across it.

  ‘Go forth in the name of the Goddess this day, recalling all she hast taught thee. May the might of Gwynedd prevail and may the Great Houses guide and protect us all.’

  ‘So be it!’

  The battle raged on in the city below. From what Katren could surmise from the prison tower, the Saxons appeared to be the stronger force. She turned back to view the Queen, whose hands and feet were now shackled together. The guards hadn’t bound Katren, as they obviously didn’t consider her to be a threat. She’d wrapped Tory’s wounded arm with a strip of material torn from her skirt. Katren had never before seen Tory so despondent. She certainly be worried about her babe, she reasoned, for Tory had said naught since the guards departed.

  Tory gazed quietly at the shadows on the floor. She was thinking of Caradoc’s death, or rather just after it, when she had cried, ‘Get me out of this place.’ She was considering in retrospect that she’d been referring to her whole situation, not just Arwystli. This truly was the age of darkness and Tory knew her current plight was only a taste of what her future, as Queen of Gwynedd, held in store. Every day here was a fight for survival. What if her unborn child did live? What kind of a future would he have? There would always be someone waiting in the shadows to do Gwynedd out of an heir. Her thoughts turned to home, her parents, her house, and her studies; the tranquillity and anonymity were just a cherished memory. If she returned to the twentieth century next summer solstice, as Taliesin suggested, would she even know her parents, or worse, would they know her? If, of course, they even existed within the new reality she would encounter upon arriving home.

  There are three candles that illuminate every darkness, child. Tory recalled her father’s voice so clearly that it brought tears to her eyes. Truth, nature, and wisdom. View life’s dilemmas with their combined enlightenment, and you will always find the right solution.

  As Tory considered this a feeling of intimacy swept through her body, filling her soul with the sweet recollection of the beautiful man she’d managed to secure for herself, and herein she found her truth. For she was bound to Maelgwn, not by patronage or law, but by the very knowledge of his existence. Even if she could escape this nightmare of an age, life without him would be far more torturous than any horror Chiglas or the Saxons could dream up for her.

  Once again she heard the door downstairs open.

  Come on, Tory, it’s your very nature to fight. And if the universe in its wisdom has seen fit to throw this test your way, you must meet the challenge head on and to the best of your ability.

  ‘What should I do, Majesty?’ Katren asked, fearful of the outcome.

  ‘Only what thee must to save thyself. If thou finds an opportunity to flee, take it,’ she stressed as they looked to the stairs.

  They were both very surprised to see only Princess Vanora and a small hooded figure.

  Katren remained frozen, her back against the wall, as the hunched little figure hobbled slowly towards the Queen.

  ‘We meet again, Sorcha,’ the old creature croaked, removing her hood to view her prey more closely.

  The hag appeared older than time itself, and Tory could easily sense the evil emanating from her. Warts covered her face and hands. Her straggly silver hair hung dead around her diseased features, and her fingernails were as long and sharp as knives. Albino in colouring, the witch’s pupils were red within an iris of white.

  ‘Nay Mahaud, her name be Tory Alexander, Maelgwn’s Queen, brought from the future by the Old Ones.’

  Mahaud burst into laughter. ‘It be Sorcha, make no mistake. Taliesin hast learnt some new tricks. But, of course,’ the old crone looked at Katren and with a wave of her hand the maiden fell unconscious, ‘it shan’t do him any good.’

  That’s what you think. Tory attempted to strike at Mahaud but the shackles hindered her attempt.

  ‘And, as usual, I am right.’ The witch extended her arm in Tory’s direction, the tips of the hag’s fingers glowing red as hot coals.

  Every muscle in Tory’s body suddenly froze, and her shackles fell away to the floor. She then rose to a stable, horizontal position about a metre above the floor. So, you are the source from which Vanora is learning her craft?

  ‘Aye,’ the witch confirmed. ‘Did thee not get my message? I sent it twice, so thee cannot say I did not give thee fair warning.’

  The dreams, all the blood, Tory realised, her panic rising.

  ‘It be the future thou hast seen,’ the witch taunted, ‘thy future! For as thou art about to discover, my sweet, there be a fourth side to the Goddess.’

  The King and his small band entered the outer bailey, cutting their way through the commotion. Neither the Saxons nor Chiglas’ men could figure whose side the masked warriors were on, and most avoided the party to concentrate instead on the known enemy.

  The fighting became more intense as they neared the inner-bailey portcullis. The Saxons could not raise the gate, though many of the barbarian raiders had scaled the fortress walls.

  Ione, who was having a field day wielding fatal blows to every man who got between her and the inner bailey, drew the King’s attention to the sky.

  Maelgwn looked up as the huge shadow of a griffin fell over the fortress. The fighting waned as all gasped in horror at the beast, and many soldiers ran in fear of their lives.

  ‘Now we have a problem.’ Vortipor observed the mighty creature circling overhead.

  ‘Perhaps not.’ Maelgwn was quietly confident that this beast was the same one allied to Taliesin.

  Those Saxon fighters who had been scaling the wall, took their leave and ran away. But one huge warrior decided to stand his ground, cursing those who scampered in fear. The King recognised him as he had confronted this scoundrel in battle before. He was Ossa, the Warlord of the Saxon invaders. Ossa was the son of Octa, who had plagued Ambrosius, High King of Briton, and Caswallon, in his early days as King of Gwynedd. The King and his knights didn’t understand much of the Saxon language, but through the Saxons’ alliance with Chiglas many of their foe had learnt the native tongue. Thus it was understood by Maelgwn and his band that Ossa accused the deserters of being no better than a bunch of women.

  Ione caught the comment, and as she was to the Saxon leader’s blind side, she gave him a kick up the butt for the insult. Ione ripped the mask from her head to make her gender plain and held her sword poised to challenge him.

  Ossa let loose a riotous round of laughter upon seeing her. ‘Well my lovely, want a taste of my sword, hey?’

  Tiernan, who was also well aware of the Warlord’s status, ran to Ione’s aid. But when he saw she was holding her own, he slid to a stop on the wet snow to admire her prowess.

  The big, brawny warrior was growing increasingly frustrated with her audacious moves. She was making a mockery of him in front of his men and his foe, and all seemed to be getting a good laugh out of it.

  ‘Great Goddess,’ Tiernan uttered. ‘She be magnificent.’

  As Ossa’s anger mounted, his concentration and skills waned. Ione’s moves became twice as daring, her strikes harder and more precise. Soon Ossa’s sword was sent flying into the distance, and the point of Ione’s sat poised at his throat.

  ‘I am sorry if I offended thee,’ he grumbled.

  Ione motioned him to his knees, indicating that she wanted him to beg. When he refused, she applied enough pressure to persuade him to comply.

  ‘Who art thou?’ the warrior asked, more interested than angry.

  Ione’s beautiful dark eyes gazed down upon him a second, the perfect features of her face devoid of any expression.

  As she raised her sword into the air, Tiernan fended off the Saxon soldiers who rushed towards her. With no time to procrastinate, Ione clobbered the Warlord in the head with the iron hilt of her sw
ord, and he passed out in the snow. She turned to assist her partner with the masses but many of them backed away, fearing that perhaps she was the fabled War Goddess who had thwarted their attempt to take Gwynedd.

  The griffin came to land on the wall that harboured the inner bailey portcullis. Warriors from both sides fled its path, and the ones who didn’t became a fast snack for the beast.

  Brockwell, having assessed the situation from the air, jumped from between the wings of the animal and took a stand on the wall to call to those down below. ‘Would thee like me to get the gate?’ He appeared rather impressed with himself, for his question met with an overwhelming response from all below.

  ‘A champion indeed,’ Maelgwn said, and was forced to smile as the portcullis went up and the barbarian warriors rushed into the fortress.

  I thank thee, my friend. Brockwell bowed to the Griffin, who’d lived up to its end of the bargain. Thou art free to go.

  Remember thy vow, warrior, the beast cautioned, as it took flight from the battle scene. For I will.

  ‘Speaking of which …’ Calin made haste inside the castle.

  As Katren came round she heard the muttering of an alien tongue being uttered in a deep, malign tone. It sounded suspiciously like an incantation, and without moving she slowly opened her eyes to view the situation.

  Tory was suspended in the air. The old crone was standing over her, and appeared totally focused on her task. Vanora, too, had her back to Katren as she stood close by Mahaud to witness the deed.

  By the time Vanora sensed the movement behind her, it was too late. Katren served her a punch right in the vital point at the root of the nose, and the Princess dropped like a rock. She then turned her sights to the old woman, who seemed oblivious to the fact that anything had happened. Katren scraped together every ounce of bravery she had and moved to attack.

  Without even turning from her hex, Mahaud waved a finger in Katren’s direction and the young maid suddenly found herself airborne. She literally flew down the long spiral staircase without so much as touching one stair. The door to the tower downstairs opened to allow her passage and she was cast against the stone wall in the corridor outside, the door slamming shut behind her.

  Katren jumped up at once to see if she could regain entry. When she could not, she began pounding furiously on the door. ‘Let her alone, witch. The Goddess will damn thee both to the Underworld for this.’ She slid down against the heavy wooden door to the ground where she sat, helpless in the face of the tragedy.

  ‘Just the maid I am looking for.’

  Upon hearing the sound of Cadogan’s sleazy voice, Katren realised she had problems of her own.

  ‘Allow me to show thee my new quarters here at Arwystli.’

  ‘I would rather die,’ she stated, defiantly, as she moved to raise herself.

  ‘Ah!’ Cadogan drew his sword to discourage her. He brushed the long brown hair off her shoulders with its point then slid the blade under her chin, lifting her face up to view him. ‘What a waste.’

  As Cadogan raised his sword, Katren closed her eyes and shed a tear. Her only regret in passing was that she would never wed her love.

  ‘Cadogan!’ Brockwell charged down the corridor at such speed that Cadogan was forced to defend himself. ‘Thou art a dead man,’ Brockwell pledged as he engaged his former ally in combat, drawing him away from his lady.

  The King’s party arrived on the scene in time to see Brockwell disarm Cadogan. Ione cried out in protest as Cadogan was driven to his knees by Brockwell’s sword.

  ‘Calin. Leave him,’ Tiernan voiced Ione’s mind.

  Ione walked steadily towards them, casting her sword aside with an ardent look in her eye. She’d been waiting over ten years for this, and no one was going to do her out of the pleasure. She swung open the door to an empty cell, and tossed the key to Tiernan.

  Cadogan, foreseeing his fate, became distraught. ‘Nay please, Calin, kill me. I beg thee, do not leave me to her.’

  ‘In a couple of hours, perhaps.’ Calin laughed as he backed off.

  Ione clutched the front of Cadogan’s shirt, dragging the spineless weasel to his feet.

  ‘Where be the key to the tower?’ Maelgwn demanded.

  Cadogan produced the key from his pocket, his eyes flooding with tears of remorse. ‘Majesty, have mercy,’ Cadogan cried, kneeling at the King’s feet.

  Maelgwn could not speak to him; the repulsion he felt was so great that he addressed Ione instead. ‘Leave him alive, the dragon wants him.’ Maelgwn left to unlock the tower door.

  Ione dragged Cadogan, still kicking and screaming, into the cell. She cast him in, slamming the door locked behind them.

  ‘I knew thee would come.’ Katren flung her arms around her rescuer’s neck.

  It seemed to Calin as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders when he cradled her in his arms. ‘Marry me?’ he whispered softly.

  ‘All the warriors in Britain could not stop me,’ she confirmed with a kiss.

  The King flung open the heavy tower door and ran up the stairs as fast as his body was able, Mahaud’s fervoured words spurring him to move faster.

  ‘Heed me demons at this our desperate hour, abate this charm of fairy power.’

  Maelgwn reached the caphouse just in time to witness the chain snap off in the witch’s hand, and her wicked laughter filled the room. At this moment Tory’s body dropped to the hard stone floor in a pool of blood.

  ‘Die witch!’ Maelgwn ran at her with his blade, but he wasn’t fast enough to kill the sorceress.

  In a blink of an eye the hag changed form into a bat, the waistlet fell to the floor, and she made her escape through the bars in the window.

  With the witch’s hold over her broken, Tory had drawn herself up into the foetal position. Tiernan dropped to his knees at her side and called out, ‘Maelgwn, the potion.’

  The King held the tiny bottle in his hand. ‘’Tis an antidote for poison … but this?’ Maelgwn slowly shook his head as he bent down beside her, overwhelmed by the excessive amount of blood she’d lost already. It was worse than any wound he’d ever seen; she would surely die within the hour.

  As the pain from the explosions taking place inside her body became too much to bear, Tory screamed in agony, ‘Forget me.’

  ‘Nay, Tory.’

  Maelgwn drew her up in his arms but Tory gripped hold of his shirt, determined to make herself clear. ‘I am dead anyway, but Chiglas …’ she gritted her teeth a moment to endure the pain, ‘…must pay for this.’ She cried out, hunching her knees to her chest even tighter.

  ‘Tory, I cannot leave thee, ’tis all my fault, I should have listened to thee.’

  ‘Shh.’ She brushed the tears from his eyes, as she felt herself become separated from the pain in her body. ‘Maelgwn, my love, do this for me.’

  He nodded reluctantly. ‘Hold on,’ he whispered, softly. ‘I will think of something, I swear it.’

  The King passed Tiernan the bottle and stood to leave. ‘Stay with her, I shall return as fast as I can.’ He pointed to Vanora’s comatosed body on the ground. ‘Bring her,’ he instructed Angus.

  The King and all the masters, bar Tiernan, made their way to the throne room to confront Chiglas. Even Ione joined them, as Cadogan had lost consciousness for the moment and she’d found there wasn’t the same satisfaction to be had in beating his senseless body senseless.

  Chiglas was seated on his throne appearing quite unconcerned that he and his advisers were surrounded by the enemy that had every imaginable form of weaponry pointed at them. Ossa, who’d managed to seize control of the fortress, was in the process of announcing that he was going to have the lying mongrel of a king ripped limb from limb.

  ‘He be mine, Ossa,’ Maelgwn announced rather bravely, as his warriors entered the room filled with Saxon soldiers.

  ‘Well now, who should appear but Maelgwn of Gwynedd,’ the Warlord said, noticing Ione was with him. ‘What right hast thou to lay claim to my spo
ils, Dragon?’

  ‘Chiglas hast slain my father, my unborn heir, and near killed my Queen. I have no argument with thee this day, Ossa, take thy due, but leave Chiglas to me. This be a kindred affair and none of thy concern.’

  ‘Then we do have an argument,’ Ossa concluded, not liking being told what to do. ‘I took this fort, therefore Chiglas be my prisoner.’

  ‘Thee could not take a horse! I had to open the gate for thee,’ Brockwell heckled, and his fellow masters collapsed into laughter.

  ‘Do not play me for the fool, boy, we raised the gate!’ Ossa insisted.

  Maelgwn, not so amused, replied, ‘How would thee know, when thou wast unconscious at the time?’

  Ione stepped forward to jerk Ossa’s memory, appearing more than willing to knock him out again.

  ‘But for my knight’s mercy, thee would be a dead man. And believe me, she will not be so gracious next time,’ Maelgwn cautioned.

  Ossa observed Ione closely. ‘A deal, then, Dragon. Give me this knight and I shall leave thee Chiglas.’

  Ossa was not a young man, and his ungainly body was tall and top heavy. Most of the warrior’s face was covered by a long, fair moustache and beard, which parted into two long braids. His long, thick hair was as fair as his beard and was beginning to grey with old age. The rest of his face, bar his small eyes of deep blue, was shielded by a heavy iron helmet that bore the face of a wildcat. He was clad in furs and armour, and on the whole was rather fierce in appearance.

  Ione looked to Maelgwn for fear he might agree; most of the men she’d known would have.

  ‘The exchange of women for profit be outlawed in Gwynedd, Ossa. But quite apart from that, Ione be one of my finest knights. I could ask her if she wishes to go with thee, but I have a feeling she would much prefer to take off thy head.’ The King smiled as Ione drew her sword to confirm.