Grail: Book Five of the Pendragon Cycle

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  “The Great King smiled, for he expected no less of his champion. Manawyddan extolled the warrior’s resolve, saying, ‘Go, then, Llencellyn, with my blessing. I charge you to remember that though all the fiends of Hell stand against you, yet with the help of the Swift Sure Hand, you must surely prevail.’

  “Up leapt Llencellyn and called for his weapons and his horse. When he had armed himself, he then mounted his fine steed and called to the lady to lead him to her realm, that he might kill the giant without delay and win himself a wife and kingdom. The Gray Lady mounted her yellow mare and led the king’s champion away.

  “The men of Manawyddan’s court were not content to stand idly by and await the combat’s outcome. ‘How can we stay here while our swordbrother faces this peril?’ they cried. ‘O, King of Might, let us follow them to the place of combat so that we might see how Llencellyn fares.’

  “This they did, following the champion’s trail to the battleground, arriving just in time to see Llencellyn strike the first of many stout blows—any one of which would have been enough to fell the strongest enemy. Curiously, the more Llencellyn fought, the stronger grew the giant. With every well-placed stroke of the champion’s sword, the Black Giant’s strength increased and Llencellyn’s grew the less.

  “The king and all his warhost looked on in horror as their renowned champion’s strength waned, until, no longer able to lift the blade, Llencellyn’s arm faltered. The Black Oppressor, keen for the kill, drove in the instant the sword blade fell. Up went the cruel iron axe, and down without mercy, striking the champion squarely in the center of his helm. The giant’s blade sliced the warhelm and passed through skin and flesh and bone and brain as if through empty air, cleaving the dauntless champion’s head in two.

  “All the host stood bereft and watched in agony and grief as the Black Oppressor leapt upon the corpse and hacked poor Llencellyn’s body into small pieces and then trampled those pieces into the ground—those, that is, which the hounds did not devour. He then turned to the stricken company, and jeered, ‘Who will be next to chance with death?’

  “When no one made bold to answer the evil lord, Manawyddan cried out, ‘If my men have lost their courage, so be it! Far better for me to die fighting than to go to my grave a coward and the king of cowards. Bring me my sword and shield!’

  “This speech shamed the assembled warriors—though not enough for any to overcome their terror of the giant. They all looked at one another and shrugged as if to say, ‘If that is the way the king wants it, who are we to disagree?’ Meanwhile, the king’s weapons were brought and the king began to gird himself for the battle which would certainly be his last.

  “Yet while the king was strapping on his sword belt, a slender young man approached, knelt before him, and said, ‘Please, lord, I am your servant.’

  “The king had never seen the youth before, and said, ‘Forgive me, lad, but I have no time for tact. Too soon I shall be feeding hungry ravens and quenching the parched soil with my blood. Who are you, and what do you want?’

  “ ‘My name,’ replied the stripling youth, ‘is of little importance. I am new to your court and have not yet distinguished myself in arms, and thus I have doubtless escaped your notice.’

  “ ‘Yes, yes,’ snapped Manawyddan irritably. ‘If you have something to say, say it quickly.’

  “ ‘I beg the boon of trying my hand against the Black Oppressor,’ the youth said simply.

  “ ‘Well, your courage is sound, but I misdoubt your intelligence. Fine and mighty warriors who have tried to slay this Black Oppressor now sleep in turf houses. What makes you think you, little more than a boy—and a skinny boy at that!—can succeed where battlechiefs the like of Llencellyn have failed so miserably?’

  “To this the lad replied, ‘Young I may be, but I have never yet met an enemy who can stand against me.’

  “ ‘Clearly, you cannot have faced many foemen,’ the king declared sadly. ‘That, I suspect, is the secret of your success.’

  “ ‘Regard me not too lightly,’ the youth warned, his assurance undimmed. ‘For I have succeeded by reason of a strange endowment with which I have been favored.’

  “Manawyddan leaned on his spear and sighed. ‘Am I ever to learn the end of this? Perhaps it was pointless conversation that laid all your adversaries low.’

  “ ‘Not at all,’ the youth assured the king solemnly. ‘I owe my triumph to the fact that, having no strength of my own, whenever I take the field the might of my opponents is granted me in double measure.’

  “ ‘Son,’ Manawyddan replied, shaking his head sadly, ‘I have lived a very long time in this worlds-realm and have heard many strange things, but I never heard of anything like that.’ He paused, regarding the slender youth with great suspicion. ‘If I believed even the smallest part of what you said to be true, I might allow you to try your hand. As it is, I fear I would merely be delaying my own death with the purchase of yours. As a king of renown and a leader of warriors, I consider it far beneath me to even contemplate such a thing.’

  “ ‘Well,’ answered the youth happily, ‘there is something in what you say, of course. But from where I stand, it appears your vaunted warhost has made the selfsame bargain with your life as you fear making with mine. Indeed, your warriors, fearless to a man, no doubt, have given you up for dead before you have even lofted spear or lifted blade.’

  “ ‘Tread lightly here,’ the king growled in warning, ‘for you are talking about men tested in the straits of battle. Nevertheless, I find myself sorely tempted to grant your entreaty, though it be your last. I could always fight the giant tomorrow, I suppose.’

  “The shaveling youth smiled and bowed to the Great King. ‘Truly, you are a sovereign worthy of the name,’ the lad replied. ‘You have but to grant my plea, and reap the reward.’

  “Manawyddan sighed. ‘Would that it were so.’

  “ ‘Rest assured, you will never hear a word of reproach from me,’ said the youth. ‘Give me a sword only, then stand aside and watch what I will do.’

  “Lord Manawyddan, Chief Dragon of the Island of the Mighty, gave the youth the sword from his hand, and called for his shield-bearers to arm the lad with spear and dagger, helm and belt as well. But the young man shook his head firmly, saying, ‘Either this blade will suffice, or it will not. If it will, then nothing else is needed; if it will not, then nothing else will help. Summon the giant, and let us set to. The day stretches long, and I am growing hungry.’

  “The Black Oppressor, who had long since retired to his hall to gloat over his loathsome triumph, was duly summoned by a blast of the king’s horn. ‘What is this?’ the giant grumbled in a voice like low thunder, ‘Who disturbs my rest? Can it be the Mighty Manawyddan has finally gathered his courage into a heap and wishes now to weigh its worth against the standard of my blade?’

  “ ‘Say nothing you wish not to regret,’ the valiant lord advised. ‘It is not myself who is judge over you, but whatever god made you—and that soon. Before you stands the youth who will do for you as you have done for so many others.’

  “The Black Giant laughed long and hard at this. Then he looked upon the youth, standing white and naked before him, armed with nothing but a sword that was so overlarge, he had to clutch it tight in both hands just to raise it.

  “ ‘Lad,’ rumbled the giant, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, ‘of all the warriors I have slaughtered, I cannot remember killing any as foolish as you.’

  “The slender youth stepped smartly forward, dragging the sword with him. ‘Only sow what you wish to reap,’ the lad replied evenly. If there was the slightest quiver of fear in his voice, no one heard it.

  “In his eagerness to kill again, the giant licked his thick, foul lips and grinned down at the fair youth. Hefting his war axe, and testing the keenness of its blade with his thumb, the Black Oppressor said, ‘Come, then; it will be a joy to send you hence.’

  “ ‘Beware, I am not so easily killed as you might think.’

>   “Angered by the youth’s indifference, the Black Giant gave a roar that curdled the marrow of all who heard it for twelve hides around. He raised the iron axe high above his head and brought it down with such a vicious chop that everyone looked away lest they see something they devoutly wished later to forget. When the axe made no sound, they opened their eyes and turned once more to where the youth stood—expecting, no doubt, to see his body halved like a carcass for the spit.

  “But no! The young man was still standing. What is more, he appeared more hale than before. Indeed, he seemed to have grown a handspan taller, and his slender limbs were thicker. The giant gaped in amazement, and looked at the axe in his fist as if he expected it to offer an explanation. Rage bubbled up like molten lead within him, and he roared again, shaking the ground with the blast. Up swept the axe blade, and down. The youth, effortless as a willow in spring, stepped lightly aside as the wicked blade shaved the empty air.

  “ ‘My father always taught me that war is a bane, and the chief of man’s afflictions,’ the youth intoned mildly. His voice had deepened and his arms, well muscled now, raised the blade and held it steadily before him. ‘Perhaps it is a lesson you should have learned.’

  “Glowering murderously, his black face growing blacker in its fury, the giant screamed, ‘How dare you condemn me! Just you stand still, and we will see who is the master here.’

  “The giant lunged wildly at the youth, who met his charge with a swift kick which stopped the black enemy in his tracks. The giant, stunned by the blow, doubled over in pain. The youth stood leaning on his sword a few paces away as his adversary heaved his dinner onto the ground. ‘It is a shame to waste a good meal,’ taunted the youth, ‘but then you were always a wastrel and a destroyer. Tell me, how does your victory taste now? Is it still as sweet in your mouth—or has it all gone sour?’

  “With a cry to crack the sky, the Black Oppressor heaved up the iron axe. The cruel weapon seemed much heavier now, and it took all his strength just to raise it and balance it above his head. The blade hung in the air, its honed edge glinting sharp in the sunlight.

  “The youth, head and shoulders rising level with those of the Black Oppressor’s, raised the king’s sword and flicked the axe blade away as if it had been a feather. The ease with which he had been disarmed inflamed the giant beyond all restraint or reason. Lowering his head, he threw wide his arms and ran at the young man, intent on crushing the youth in his all-encircling grasp.

  “The giant made but three paces before his legs gave out and he toppled face-first onto the ground. The collision drove the breath from the wicked foeman’s lungs, and caused the earth to tremble and shake as if to draw the mountains down. But the young man, towering over the giant now, stepped to the Vile Enemy and lopped off his head with an easy stroke of Manawyddan’s sword, saying, ‘Never more will you trouble the good people of this realm.’

  “The king and all his tribe stood blinking in astonishment at what they had seen. For the space of six heartbeats, not a sound was to be heard in all the world, and then, with a great shout of relief, they all rushed forward to acclaim the wonderful youth and his astounding triumph over the Black Oppressor.

  “Manawyddan was first to laud the youth, and led his people in a song of praise in the young man’s honor. The Gray Lady threw off her hood, ran to the youth, and put her arms around his neck—for, as soon as the giant was dead, the lad had assumed his former shape and size. The lady kissed him, and declared loudly for all to hear: ‘Truly, you are a champion among men. This day you have won your kingdom, and your queen.’

  “Abashed by the tumult, the young man blushed crimson from top to toe. Taking the lady’s arms from around his neck, he said, ‘Though your offer is kindness itself, I must ask your pardon and decline. My course is set before me, for I am directed by another hand.’

  “Lord Manawyddan was saddened to hear these words. ‘What?’ he cried. ‘Will you not stay with us? My champion is slain, and I have need of another. You, I think, more than deserve that place.’

  “The youth only smiled, and begged to be excused the honor. ‘Alas, I cannot stay even a moment longer,’ he said, and explained how it was his geas to roam the width and breadth of the world and offer his aid wherever it was needed.

  “ ‘Leave if you must,’ said Manawyddan, ‘but please do not go away empty-handed. You have but to name your reward and, to the half of my kingdom, it is yours.’

  “Smiling still, the young man declined once more. ‘I have what is needful, and more would avail me nothing.’ Looking at the warriors gathered close around, the young man said, ‘Good king, honor me instead in these who have been given you. Do not hold their fright against them—men are only dust, after all.’

  “The king marveled the more at these words. ‘Go, then,’ said Manawyddan, ‘and with my blessing. Yet, I would not have you leave us before I learned your name.’

  “The young man smiled at this. ‘Do you not know me yet?’ he asked.

  “The king answered, ‘Son, I never laid eyes on you before this day. Who are you, lad?’

  “To which the stranger replied, ‘I am the Youth of a Thousand Summers.’ He then bade everyone farewell and, passing among them, disappeared in much the same way as he had arrived: unseen and unguessed.

  “When he had gone, the Gray Lady threw open the gates of her stronghold and invited Manawyddan and his warrior host to feast with her and her people in celebration of their deliverance. The king, though still less than elated with the fainthearted behavior of his warband, accepted. They all went into the queen’s hall and feasted for three days and three nights in the most pleasant fellowship they had ever known. Men and women sat down together and soon found themselves sharing the feast with the one they loved best. One by one, each couple came before their ruler to beg the boon of marriage. All were duly married, and the celebration continued as a wedding feast, and their joy was made complete.

  “Gazing out upon all the feasting couples, the queen observed, ‘It is right and good that our people should unite our kingdoms in this way. I only wish that I could share their happiness and increase it with my own.’

  “To this Lord Manawyddan replied, ‘God knows I am setting a poor example for my people if all of them are married and I myself have no queen.’ Turning to the lady beside him, he said, ‘I may not be a giant-slayer, but I know I would be a better king than I have ever been if you would be my wife. Lady,’ he said, taking her hand in his, ‘will you marry me?’

  “The Gray Lady smiled easily and said, ‘And here was I thinking you would never ask. Yes, my king, I will marry you.’

  “This pleased the king greatly. ‘Here we are to be married,’ he declared, ‘and I do not even know your name.’

  “ ‘My name is Rhiannon,’ the Gray Lady answered. So saying, the queen threw off her gray hood and cloak to reveal a dress all of gold, with jewels—each more costly than the last—and tiny pearls sewn with thread of braided silver. Her hair was red-gold and braided fine, her skin white as milk, her flesh supple, and her smooth-cheeked face lovely to look upon. The sight of her pleased Manawyddan well, and he married her at once lest she somehow slip from his grasp.

  “The king then presented his new queen to the people, and the noble couple made their way through the hall, giving gifts to one and all. The celebration was renewed to the delight of every creature, high or low, living in the realm.

  “Behold! When they rose from the table, three hundred years had passed them unawares. Nor had they suffered the predations of age, for every man and woman was as hale as the moment he or she had first sat down. Indeed, not so much as a single silver hair was to be seen on any head, and even those whose brows had been creased by care were seen to be as smooth and cheerful as the day each was born.

  “From that moment, the combined kingdoms of Rhiannon and Manawyddan became known as the Isle of the Everliving. The realm flourished as never before, producing a bounty of all good things, and becoming the envy of a
ll the world.

  “Many tales are told of this enchanted island, but this tale is finished. Let him hear it who will.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The Grail is mine! The single most potent talisman in all the world, and it is mine!

  Oh, Morgaws, my lovely one, you have done better than you know—better, even, than that simple sot of a nephew of mine will ever know. And to think Avallach had it all this time! All these years, Avallach kept it hidden away, never sharing the secret with anyone.

  Of course, if I had so much as imagined Avallach possessed such a relic, I would have taken it long ago. He would never have given it to me; when did Avallach ever give me anything? Truly, if he had ever favored me with even the crumb of consideration he shows the hound sniffing around his stables, things might be far different now.

  But did the mighty Fisher King ever lift a finger for me? Never! It was all for Charis, always for Charis. She had everything, and I had nothing. Taliesin should have been mine! Together, we would have ruled Britain forever.

  Charis, Goddess of the Stinking Masses, will yet curse the day of her birth. I might have killed her any of a thousand times—it would have been so easy! But death would merely end her suffering, and I want her torment to linger long.

  No, it will not be Charis who dies; it will be the wretched Merlin and his clumsy creature, Arthur, swiftly followed by his simpering slut of a queen and her ox-brained champion. They will all go weeping and wailing to their graves—but not before they have seen their ridiculous dream destroyed by the one real power in this world. They had the Grail, the fools, they had it in their hands and failed to discern what it was they held.