Shadow Lands Trilogy

by Simon Lister

  Their camp was placed at the top of a hill which had a chalk engraved white horse on its northeast side that could be seen for many miles. A roughly circular wooden wall standing on a ring of raised earth encompassed the top of the hill. It was twenty-feet high and had two gateways, west and east, wide enough for two wains to pass through side by side. Two towers stood by the gateways. Within the compound were cattle sheds for the winter stabling of stock, various buildings for blacksmiths, metal and wood workers, lodgings and roundhouses and in the centre, the main hall.

  The Ridgeway ran by the camp and as Arthur’s band approached they could tell by the subdued activity that the camp was half-empty. Most of the war band were gathering villagers in the West and in Anglia, a few would be at Caer Sulis already, some would be at the Causeway Gates now, others would never come back from Eald. A crowd of families had gathered outside the gate when word was passed that Arthur was coming up the Ridgeway, many hoping the scant news they had heard regarding Eald was inaccurate and all hoping that it was not their own who had died across the sea. They waited silently as the band drew nearer. Overhead the gathering clouds dropped scattered showers across the landscape but the sun still clung to the eastern horizon and cast their shadows long across the stubbled cornfields.

  Arthur and the others reached the gates and dismounted. The assembled crowd waited silently for the news, only Della rushed forward with her children to embrace Mar’h her husband. Arthur told them all to gather in the main hall and Cei led his Anglians to one side and they busied themselves with stabling the horses as Arthur and Ceinwen made their way to the hall.

  It was about the same size as the one at Branque but the woodwork around the entrance and within the hall was far more ornately carved with intricately looping and spiralling designs interlocking with each other as they ran up pillars or around the frames of windows. There were raised steps up to the wide entrance and on either side of the doorway there were two flagpoles, the king’s red dragon flew from one and the other flag bore the white horse emblem of the Wessex war band. The warriors carried the same device on their shields, a stylised white horse in mid-leap on a green background.

  Arthur sat on one of the trestle tables that ran the length of the hall and the group collected around him. He listed those from Ruadan’s band who had died at Eald and as he named each one he spoke directly to their respective families and told them how they had died. Most accepted it with stoicism. It was a rare year when they lost no one from the war band but they had not lost twelve in one battle since the last full Uathach border raid and that had been several years ago. The young wife of one of the dead warriors broke down and Ceinwen led her from the hall and offered what comfort she could.

  Arthur then told the group the whole story from when he had left Ruadan and the others at Eald. They listened with growing anxiety as the full implications of the timed attacks and the silence from the Belgae villages began to dawn on them. Arthur made it clear this was no border raid but a new enemy. He finished by making it equally clear that he expected Britain to soon be at war with this new foe. The group left the hall and dispersed back to their homes talking amongst themselves with a mixture of grief, anxiety and excitement, speculating on what King Maldred would do about this new threat and what part they would have to play in it.

  Mar’h entered the hall with Cei and Balor and they approached Arthur who was still sitting on the long table, his head bowed.

  ‘How did they take it?’ Cei asked.

  ‘Well enough. They’ll take some time to truly realise what it will mean,’ Arthur replied.

  ‘It’ll mean many more dead if they come across the Causeway,’ Mar’h said.

  ‘And the Anglians won’t be able to stop them,’ Balor added dismissively. Cei looked at him sharply and Balor hastily qualified his statement by saying that there were just too many of the enemy for the Anglians to hold the Causeway against them.

  ‘Then I won’t wait for them to do so,’ Arthur said, lifting his head to look at them.

  ‘But winter’s almost on us,’ Balor replied, aghast at Arthur’s implied intent.

  ‘You want to cross the Causeway in the darkness of winter?’ Cei asked.

  ‘The king won’t agree to that,’ Mar’h said shaking his head.

  ‘No one’s taken a war band across the Causeway in winter since, well, ever,’ Cei said. Someone sitting behind them cleared their throat unnoticed.

  ‘At least they won’t be expecting it,’ Mar’h replied considering the prospect.

  ‘And it would be better than waiting for a time of their choosing,’ Cei conceded.

  ‘Excellent! Carefully laid and thought-out plans. Splendid. Nothing hasty here I see. Needn’t have bothered journeying here really, I might as well be on my way then.’

  Cei and Mar’h spun round and Arthur jumped off the table. Balor nearly fell off his chair at the unexpected voice.

  ‘Merdynn!’ they exclaimed more or less in unison and with a variety of oaths.

  ‘Always nice to be recognised. I got word you were crossing the Causeway and heading here. But it seems I’m not required for counsel,’ he nodded to them as he passed between them and made for the door. ‘Good luck in your meticulously considered venture,’ he said over his shoulder as he reached the door.

  Arthur smiled at the others and took a step after the departing Merdynn, ‘But you’ll share a flagon of beer with us before we leave for the Shadow Lands?’

  Merdynn turned at the doorway, ‘You’ll be needing all the beer for yourselves to help refine this masterpiece. The fumes might cover some of the gaping holes in your inspired strategy.’

  ‘Some beer and Wessex cheese then?’ Mar’h upped the offer.

  ‘Well,’ Merdynn hesitated, scratching his head in mock contemplation and hesitation.

  ‘Right. Ale, cheese and Cornish bacon,’ Cei made the final offer.

  ‘You have Cornish bacon here?’ Merdynn asked tilting his head back and raising both eyebrows.

  ‘I’ve no idea, Merdynn - do you think I live here?’ Cei replied laughing.

  Merdynn laughed softly, ‘No Cei, no one could mistake you for one of these barbarians. Mar’h, grab some suitable victuals and we’ll eat like kings in Arthur’s hall as you three tell me your news. And close your mouth Balor – at least until the food arrives.’

  Balor and Mar’h went in search of food and Cei collected some ale then joined the others who had sat at the top table in the raised end of the hall. Merdynn noticed a shadow cross Arthur’s face and looked intently at him.

  ‘Arthur?’ he asked, still staring into Arthur’s grim expression.

  ‘The last time I sat at the head table in a hall was in Branque. Just before the slaughter,’ Arthur replied holding Merdynn’s eyes.

  ‘And what are you contemplating?’ Merdynn asked leaning forward, ‘Revenge?’

  ‘I will not let it happen again,’ Arthur replied, deliberately not answering the question.

  ‘Good,’ Merdynn said and sat back in his chair, straightening the folds in his worn and ancient brown cloak. Cei looked from one to the other discerning that something had passed between them but not knowing what.

  ‘How’s your leg – I saw you limping,’ Merdynn asked.

  ‘It’ll be fine. Ceinwen’s seen to it but even so, I’ll be limping for the winter.’

  ‘Ceinwen, eh?’ Merdynn asked with interest.

  Mar’h struggled up to the table laden with various breads, cheeses and meats. Merdynn clapped his hands and stood up to pick out a slab of cheese from the armful Mar’h was precariously holding.

  ‘Thanks, that’s a help,’ he said to Merdynn.

  ‘Don’t mention it my boy,’ Merdynn replied cutting a large corner off the slab and popping it into his mouth. Cei laughed and helped Mar’h unload the foods onto the table.

  ‘Where’s your partner in pessimism gone?’ Merdynn asked Mar’h.

  ‘Balor?’

  ‘The one and only.’
<
br />   ‘He’s gone.’

  ‘Gone? Why?’

  ‘I think you make him nervous,’ Mar’h replied smiling.

  ‘Good. Serves him right for chopping down so many trees. Never trust a man who lives in the woods and talks to trees, and then cuts them down.’

  The others laughed and Merdynn’s ancient face creased into a broad smile. They fell into the carefree talk of local news and gossip as they ate and drank.

  It was some time before Merdynn finally broached the subject that had never fully left their minds, ‘So, Arthur, Ceinwen the only survivor from Branque?’ he asked around a mouthful of cheese.

  ‘Yes. Ruadan got twenty or thirty out of Eald.’

  ‘Who were they – who attacked you?’

  ‘Not Uathach.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. They were different from us, different from anyone I’ve seen or encountered in Britain or across the Causeway,’ Arthur said, unsure of how to describe the attackers.

  ‘I’ve not seen their like in Middangeard before,’ Mar’h added.

  ‘Were they generally short, with straight black hair, round-ish flat faces, black armoured, curved swords, merciless and careless for their own lives? And, more significantly, did they carry the three-pronged device on their shields?’ Merdynn asked leaning forward.

  Arthur and Mar’h nodded, ‘You’ve seen them?’ Arthur asked.

  The levity had dropped from Merdynn’s face and he looked at Arthur as he spoke, ‘Yes. Many times.’

  ‘What do they want?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘Where have they come from?’ Arthur asked.

  ‘The past.’

  ‘Merdynn...’

  ‘They call themselves the Adren and they come from the East, the Shadow Lands. Many years ago I saw them when I journeyed far into the East, into the Khan’s lands, where the plains stretch on for ever and the sky never ends. They have mounted captains who command them. The captains are from the Shadow Land City but the Adren are from further east and their like hasn’t been seen here for such a time that none but a few remember the stories of them now. I had not guessed they had come so far west and so quickly. I didn’t believe he could organise them in so short a time, just a few hundred years and yet they’re already within our lands.’ Merdynn had become distant, lost in past memories and the silence was only broken by the soft rapping of his fingers on the tabletop.

  They realised it had begun to rain heavily outside too, and the driving rain drummed down on the hall’s roof as Merdynn continued to tap the table seemingly unaware of those around him. Mar’h carried on eating unperturbed by the silence. Cei always assumed these lapses of silence by Merdynn were due to his old age. No one knew how old he was but the eldest amongst the tribes remembered him as an old man when they were but children. Arthur knew him better than anyone else did and knew him to be lost in his memories – searching through the Ages for the information he needed. He signalled the other two away from the table and told them to get everyone together in the hall later on for the evening meal and that they would head west to Caer Sulis tomorrow. When they had left he sat back down and drifted into sleep while waiting for Merdynn to return.

  Merdynn had indeed been lost in his memories. He had been trying to recall all he once knew concerning the kings of old. His memory spanned millennia and one image from the past triggered another until he became lost in reliving the events and ancient histories that only he in the whole of Middangeard could remember. Over recent years he had pondered and fretted over the possibility that two others may still be in the world, two others who would remember all that he himself did. They had passed from his knowledge long ago but he felt with a certainty that could not be defined or explained that one or perhaps both were somehow linked to the reappearance of the Adren, the soldier slaves of a distant master.

  With an effort he brought his wandering mind back to the question that had haunted him for centuries. Who was the heir to the ancient realm? Had the bloodline continued through the dark and sudden chaos of the ending of the last Age? Who was the one person who could unite the disparate peoples of Middangeard, unite them long enough to face the darkness that had come from the Shadow Lands?

  He had cursed the fate and treachery that had seen him imprisoned during the glorious rise and devastating fall of the last Age for it meant he had lost all trace of that which he was charged to protect. Only the unimaginable scale of the carnage of that fall had set him free from his imprisonment. He had wandered through the debris of a people in utter ruins, collecting the scant few who had survived those dark years and setting them on a course to recreate their world in the image of the one he had last known.

  He searched for centuries vainly trying to find the thread that linked the Ages together. He had the patience of oceans and hope unfathomable but the countless years had whittled both to a brittle splinter. Then on a soft summer’s day he had strode into the burning wreckage of an Uathach raid. The marauders had departed leaving only smoking ruins and death. He had sat on the edge of the village well, wrapped in despair and weighed down by hopelessness when he heard the echo of a baby crying. It had taken him four hours to coax the young boy from the bottom of the well where he had hid from the raiders with his infant sister huddled close to his chest. The only things the raiders prized above harvested crops were children and childbearing women.

  When the four-year old boy had finally climbed out and stood defiantly before him Merdynn had felt a surge of joy. He had recognised something in the gray eyes of the boy that brought the faces of ancient kings flashing back into his mind. He had knelt before the boy and asked him his name. When the boy replied, Merdynn had turned his face to the skies in the West and relief was etched into every line of his worn face.

  That boy now sat sleeping in the chair opposite him, the Warlord of Wessex. The time had come to put his beliefs and hope to the test, to discover if all he felt to be true was indeed true. He had to take the boy who had climbed from the well to the Halls of the Kings.

  Arthur stirred back to wakefulness when Merdynn waved a mug of beer under his nose.

  ‘Thought that might do it. Now grab your cloak, there’s a gift waiting for you outside,’ Merdynn said as he stood and clasped his own threadbare cloak around himself. Arthur got up and followed him to the doorway at the far end of the hall with images flashing through his mind of the slaughter at Branque.

  Merdynn strode straight out of the hall, his staff in one hand and the rain bouncing off his bare head. Arthur stopped at the doorway, cast a glance back inside the dry hall then pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and followed Merdynn who was already half-way to the gate.

  Leah, standing outside Della’s home with Ceinwen, watched them leave and shuddered. Arthur, still limping and using his bow for support, caught up with Merdynn as he joined the Ridgeway track and turned towards Delbaeth Gofannon. The clouds had come in from the West and the rain fell in straight lines obscuring the views down into the vale of the white horse. The setting sun was hidden by the black-bruised clouds that now stretched from horizon to horizon. Puddles and pools of water were already collecting along the chalk-clay track reflecting darkly the skies above. The stunted trees and straggling bushes along the track-way were twisted and bent by the force of the prevailing winds that normally swept across the Downs. Now they were still, collecting the hard rain and spilling it onto the heavy clay path making each step more arduous than the last.

  ‘Is this gift better tempered than the last?’ Arthur asked.

  Merdynn turned to look at him, ‘Has the horse not served you well then?’

  ‘I don’t believe that horse would serve anyone, but it took me out of Branque alive and I’m grateful for that.’

  ‘Quite right. Well, this gift is tempered perfectly.’

  The rain hardened, throwing mud up from the track-way as it hammered down on the gathered pools.

  ‘How far are we going?’ Arthur raised his voice to make hi
mself heard.

  Merdynn pointed up ahead to the ring of tall trees that circled Delbaeth Gofannon. Arthur nodded and bent his head against the rain. As they approached the grove the pathway, sunken between the sodden fields on either side, grew more flooded and Arthur found himself wading and having to drag his damaged leg through thick, muddy water as he followed on behind Merdynn.

  They turned off the Ridgeway and followed a short path to the circle of trees. In the centre of the ringed grove stood an oval burial mound, edged by standing stones with three rough-cut blocks at one end as an entrance. Merdynn stopped by the low doorway into the burial mound and absently ran his hand over the wet stone. He stood there lost in his own thoughts as the rain swept around them.

  ‘Now is not the time to examine your memories old man.’

  Merdynn took his hand from the worn stone and turned impatiently to Arthur, ‘I was trying to remember how to get in, so now is exactly the right time to examine my memories.’

  ‘More of your runes and chants perhaps?’

  Merdynn looked at him sharply before replying, ‘Actually, I’m fairly sure we just walk through the entrance. Follow me.’

  He ducked down and disappeared into the darkness inside. Throwing back his hood Arthur followed. After crouching along behind Merdynn for two or three yards he found the passageway widening to either side. He reached above his head expecting to feel the damp earth of the ceiling but his hand touched nothing and he straightened up. He looked back the way they had come but despite having taken no turns he could no longer see the twilight outside.

  He could hear Merdynn ahead of him stumbling in the darkness and cursing to himself. Gradually a light grew in the darkness and Arthur found himself in a chamber with what appeared to be smaller and darker rooms branching off to either side. Merdynn was slowly pacing along the walls and peering at them as if looking for something. Every now and again he would stop and touch his staff against the wall and a dim light would start emanating from the spot he had touched.