by Simon Lister
‘If you see Merdynn?’
‘And tell Ethain if you see him,’ she answered and they parted.
Arthur went to the fire and picked up some roasted meat. Balor was sitting with his back to him and Arthur heard his name being spoken. He listened to Balor speaking.
‘I had to charge them, thought he was going to talk them to death.’ Balor had drunk a lot of wine and did not notice the others trying to attract his attention. He continued his explanation, ‘I’d only used my axe on the door up ‘til then so I had to...’ he realised the others were looking behind him rather than at him. He turned and jumped when he saw Arthur standing a few yards behind him. He quickly took his arm from Morveren as some deeply ingrained sense of self-preservation sent an urgent reminder of the rumour concerning Morveren’s parentage to his befuddled brain.
‘Arthur! I was...’ he faltered, flustered, then in his drunken haze thought he saw a way out, ‘I never doubted you could talk them to death, like...’ It dawned on him that he was not making things better and stopped.
‘I’d just assumed you’d let loose another of your noisome fumes and were just leaping to get away from it,’ Arthur replied straight-faced.
Morgund and Mar’h burst out laughing again.
‘We should have used you to poison the food Balor, who needs Merdynn’s potions when we have your arse?’ Tomas added to more laughter.
Arthur tossed the leg of meat he was holding to Balor, who caught it chuckling, and walked off to find Merdynn. He found him feeding his pony.
‘Why is it you ride a pony Merdynn when you could have the best horse in the land?’ Arthur asked.
‘Troubling you is it?’ Merdynn replied without turning, ‘We’re in the midst of Adren armies, alone in the Shadow Lands with half your war band drunk and winter knocking on the door and your real concern is why I should choose to ride a pony?’
‘Yes.’
Merdynn laughed and turned to face Arthur, ‘Very well. I always have. Always. Others may choose fine beasts but a pony’s always done for me. Now, what are you really concerned about?’
‘What if the Adren don’t send messages back and forth. Perhaps they have no contact with each other for weeks?’
‘Then we’re in for a very dull winter.’
Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, ‘I should send a raiding party to Eald to stir them into life. Then they’ll wish to contact Branque.’
‘That should do the trick.’
‘Yes, probably.’
‘Good. Glad that’s decided then,’ Merdynn returned to feeding his pony with the carrot he held in his hand.
‘But then they’ll be aware of us when they come down the roadway. It’ll make an ambush harder,’ Arthur continued.
‘True. Difficult one.’
‘For someone fabled for their wisdom you aren’t giving much advice Merdynn.’
‘And that would be wise would it? Giving Advice?’
‘What good is wisdom if not shared?’
‘Very well, you want some sound advice? Stop your men drinking. Where do you think you are? Deep in Wessex?’
Arthur was surprised by Merdynn’s obvious and sudden anger.
‘They’re just celebrating a victory.’
‘Against a handful of surprised Adren drunk on wine and flesh. Such a great victory, surely we can all go home now?’
‘They know it for what it is, Merdynn, and they’re just trying to forget what they saw.’
‘They shouldn’t forget it. Ever.’
‘Of course they won’t but Cei’s right, they need to dull the pain of it until they can accept what happened.’
Merdynn sighed and his anger left him. ‘For what it’s worth I’d wait a few days longer before you consider raiding Eald. You’re right. Surprise is your only advantage out here. But you can’t wait longer in case an attack is being planned on the Causeway elsewhere. It’s a question of balance, of knowing the moment. You’ll know when it is time.’
So Arthur waited and gradually the sunlight left the East. The skies above the forest canopy turned from pale turquoise to dark blue and the winter stars grew brighter and more numerous, strung through the branches and boughs above them. When they awoke after the first round of celebrations the heavy-headed and red-eyed warriors sat outside their tents with their breath pluming in clouds before them as they struggled into their thick winter gear. Many of them were already binding long strips of cloth around their feet and lower legs in preparation for the coming cold before pulling on their leather and deerskin boots. The ground was lightly frosted, and even the roots that spread out from the trees, like arteries jutting from the forest floor, were rimed white. The frost would be much deeper away from the protective cover of the forest and even here the leaves from the oak or birch trees, interspersed among the pines, already lay brittle and crisp underfoot.
The second round of celebrations got underway and still nothing travelled on the roadway between Eald and Branque. Arthur rode from group to group and then back again, silently wondering if his plan was flawed. A low blanket of clouds spread from the West and it started to snow lightly, sending flakes swirling around those gathered close about the fire recounting their tales from Branque. The snow settled briefly on cloaks and tents but it was not heavy enough to cover the forest floor. It seemed to stay suspended in the air between the trees, first drifting one way then blown another, getting into eyes and finding its way into unsecured tents. It made it difficult for the scouts and those on watch and they inched closer to the paths and roads they were guarding, afraid to miss those they sought in the gloom and swirling snow. The first tentative fingers of winter had begun to feel their way eastward, laying claim to the land that the sun had abandoned.
Arthur watched from the edge of the hollow as the second celebrations ended and the drunken warriors stumbled into their tents. Although he had wanted to pour the wine away rather than have the two halves of his company drunk consecutively, he did not begrudge them their release. They had done well at Branque. He knew that the Adren were surprised and drunk themselves at the time yet they had still outnumbered his warriors two to one. They had lost five people in the attack. His war band considered that a good exchange given the odds. He thought differently. Their numbers were few and if they lost five people in each engagement then it would not be long before no one was left. They just could not afford to be involved in pitched battles if they were to last the winter and get back across the Causeway.
It had not stopped snowing but neither had it become any heavier. Snow still swirled in slow eddies around the hollow, threatening to settle before being lifted off the frosted ground once again by the light wind that found its way through the forest.
Arthur absently rubbed his hands together, his fingers numbing in the cold air. The skin on his face felt tight, drawn by the early winter temperatures. He felt rather than heard the beat of hooves on the frozen earth and a horse tethered beyond the hollow neighed a loud greeting to its approaching companion. Arthur stood up quickly and realised his legs had stiffened in the cold too. Massaging his injured leg, he limped towards the rider who was speeding between the trees towards the hollow.
It was Morveren. She jumped down from her horse that slid to a stop on the frozen ground, tossing its head and sending clouds of breath streaming from its nostrils. She looked around for Arthur and saw him limping towards her.
‘Arthur! Five riders have just passed heading to Branque.’
‘Who’s following them?’
‘Mar’h and Morgund are shadowing them.’
‘Ride to the lookouts above Branque, tell them I’m going straight to the village and to meet me in the valley after the riders have passed.’
Morveren leapt effortlessly back onto her horse and brought it sharply around before charging off again. Arthur mounted his far less gracefully and made for the roadway at half of Morveren’s pace, carefully picking his way between the trees in the half-darkness. Once he reached the broad forest
trail to Branque he picked up his speed and galloped after the riders who were already some way ahead of him. He felt elated that the waiting was over, the stiffness in his leg was forgotten and he no longer felt the cold wind as it whipped around his face.
When he reached the valley floor where the road left the forest and turned to Branque he drew his horse up. The contrasting figures of Mar’h and Morgund appeared out of the darkness to his right.
‘They’re just approaching the village ahead,’ Mar’h said.
‘Good. I want to catch them off their horses,’ Arthur replied and spurred his horse on to the village. Morgund pointed to the slope to their right, three riders were approaching fast. He recognised Balor’s form bouncing in one saddle and the more elegant riding of Ceinwen and Morveren beside him. They met at the ford and went crashing straight across it, sending ice-cold water fountaining from under their horses’ hooves.
The five riders ahead had already dismounted and were standing at the gateway staring at the staked heads before them when they heard the horses approaching.
Arthur and the others flung themselves from their horses and drew their weapons. There were four Adren and one of their captains at the gateway. They recovered from the double shock quickly. One of the Adren reached quickly for the bow slung on the horse beside him, Balor rushed forward and threw his axe at him. It spun end over end and the head of the blade thudded into the Adren’s face as he strung an arrow. He went sprawling and Balor stopped in his tracks, realising he had thrown his only weapon as Arthur and the others stepped beyond him. The other three Adren had formed a protective ring around their captain and the two groups faced each other only twenty-feet apart.
‘Leave their captain to me,’ Arthur said and they advanced on the enemy.
What happened next surprised them. Despite being outnumbered the three remaining Adren charged at them, shields raised and curved swords poised to slash down, while the captain sprinted for his horse. Arthur dashed to intercept him while the others met the charge. The captain reached his horse and bounded onto its back, digging his heels in to send it clear of the melee. Arthur dived full length, swinging his sword round in a wide arc and catching one of the horse’s hind legs. The horse buckled under the captain and he leapt off, bringing his sword down on Arthur who was still on the ground. Arthur rolled beyond its reach and scrambled to his feet, his sword held before him. The Adren Captain cursed at Arthur and lunged forward aiming at his stomach. Arthur turned the blade and back swept at the captain’s helmeted head. He ducked just in time. The captain feigned a thrust at Arthur’s face then changed it to a low sweep, trying to cut Arthur’s legs from under him. Arthur stepped back from the sweep and then leapt forward bringing his own sword down on the captain’s outstretched arm, severing it at the elbow. He stared at his dismembered arm as Arthur brought the flat of his sword clattering back into the side of the captain’s head.
Arthur looked around for the others. The Adren were dead but Mar’h was down on one knee cursing, holding his shield arm. Ceinwen was running towards her saddlebags. The other three were breathing hard but seemed unhurt.
‘Morgund! Give me a hand here!’ Arthur called out. Kneeling, he cut the reins from the struggling horse then killed it. He tied the leather strips as tight as possible round the captain’s upper arm.
‘Get his legs,’ he said to Morgund and together they carried him inside the compound and into the nearest building.
‘Bring me some water,’ Arthur said.
Arthur propped the captain sitting up in a corner, his head hanging lifelessly, unconscious. Morgund returned with a skin of water and moved to take the silver helmet of the captain’s head.
‘Leave us,’ Arthur said and Morgund closed the door behind him and returned to find out how Mar’h was.
Mar’h was still cursing through gritted teeth as Ceinwen wrapped his arm tightly in bandages. Morveren was looking on concerned, wanting to help but at the same time not wanting to get in Ceinwen’s way. Balor had retrieved his axe and was adding to the staked array inside the compound.
‘How is it, Mar’h?’ Morgund asked.
Mar’h swore in reply.
‘Cut deeply but it should heal,’ Ceinwen answered for him.
‘Same arm,’ Morgund said rather obviously.
‘Bloody shield slipped and the bastard’s sword slid up it into my bloody arm,’ Mar’h spat out as Ceinwen strapped his arm to his chest.
Screams tore through the cold air, coming from the compound. Balor, striding out of the gates with his axe hoisted over his shoulder, turned at the sound of them and shaking his head walked back to his companions.
‘What’s the point of torturing one of them for information when they don’t speak in the same tongue?’ Morgund asked the others. They shrugged as the screams came again.
‘Bastards deserve it,’ Mar’h said, his face still screwed up in pain.
‘True enough,’ Balor said.
The screams suddenly stopped and moments later Arthur came striding out of the gates towards them.
‘Can you ride, Mar’h?’ Arthur asked. Ceinwen noted how drawn his face was.
‘Yes. Don’t know how fast though,’ he answered.
‘You want that captain’s head staked too?’ Balor said indicating back towards the village.
‘Yes. Put it at the front and keep the helmet on. It will be more easily recognised,’ Arthur replied and Balor sauntered back into the compound.
Arthur and Morgund helped Mar’h into his saddle. Morveren led Balor’s horse back to the gate for him. They rode slowly back up the slope with Arthur some way ahead.
Balor was unusually quiet as he rode beside Ceinwen.
‘Still sure that captain deserved torturing?’ Ceinwen said, misreading his silence.
Balor looked at her, ‘Not a mark on him – except his arm of course. He wasn’t even dead. I could see his eyes through the slits in his helmet and I’ve seen nothing like it before. Just staring in terror and twitching uncontrollably. Like he’d lost his mind,’ Balor said and made the sign to ward off evil.
Ceinwen frowned at him. Balor was not known to be superstitious.
‘You didn’t bloody see him,’ he said and pulled his horse away from her.
When they arrived back at the camp Arthur sent fresh scouts and guards out even though he knew it would be some time before the Adren Captain was missed. The snow was falling more heavily from the dark sky and beginning to settle on the outspread pine branches.
Arthur walked away from the hollow where most of the war band had retired to their tents after hearing the news of the brief skirmish and the capture of the Adren Captain. The forest became quiet as Arthur left the camp behind. He could almost hear the snow settling on the unseen branches above him. The darkness would be complete before long and travelling through the forests would become painstakingly slow. His head shot up as an owl hooted off to his right somewhere. An answering call sounded nearer to him and they traded calls for a minute before falling silent.
‘We’re not the only ones hunting in the forests of the Shadow Lands.’
Arthur turned to find Merdynn emerging from the shadows between the trees. He was wrapped in his brown cloak and the hood kept the snow from his eyes. ‘You captured some Adren?’
‘Yes, one of their captains.’
‘Ah, an Adren Captain. And what did you learn from him?’ Merdynn asked.
Arthur leant against a tree and ran a hand through his bedraggled hair, dislodging the snow that had already began to settle there.
‘He was Cithol – as we suspected. I had to force read him and even then I only got scattered information. Nevertheless I saw enough, thousands upon thousands of Adren. Armies camped all along the coastline, waiting. And yet more coming west. I saw a broad, straight road that stretched mile after mile running deep into the East and endless trains of carts and wains bringing foods and supplies from the East to feed these armies,’ Arthur stopped and hung his head.
‘Did you see anything of the Veiled City?’ Merdynn asked stepping closer to Arthur.
‘Yes. I had to break his mind to do it but I did see. They want the Veiled City intact and they want to destroy everything else in Middangeard. They want all the peoples of the West dead. And I don’t see how they can be stopped.’
Merdynn leaned heavily on his staff, ‘Much as we feared then.’
‘Can any of this be untrue?’ Arthur asked.
‘I can’t help you there, Arthur, you were the one who saw. Can it be untrue?’
‘No. No, it can’t,’ Arthur answered and stared at Merdynn.
‘Don’t despair, Arthur. We can yet hope.’
‘What for? We have one hundred and fifty warriors. Three hundred with the king’s men. Even if I had the time to train those who have gone west I would only have at the most two or three thousand. I had no idea of the size of their armies. Tens of thousands of soldiers...’
‘You would abandon Wessex, Britain, its peoples, the land? You would abandon Fin Seren and the Veiled City?’
Arthur looked up at Merdynn when he mentioned Seren.
‘You know?’ he asked with resignation.
‘There’s little that passes under sun or moon in Middangeard that I do not know.’
‘I will not abandon any of them. But I see no way to defend them either.’
‘The hour is dark indeed.’
‘Could it get any darker?’
‘Oh yes. It can always get darker,’ Merdynn replied brightly.
‘Gods,’ muttered Arthur and started pacing across the thin layer of snow covering the ground. He looked again at Merdynn who watched him, ‘If they come across the Causeway in those numbers we’ll never hold them.’
Arthur strode back and forth with growing despair, as he desperately tried to think of any way to stop what he felt was going to be inevitable. ‘If we can hold them long enough to arm the peoples of Britain. Until mid-summer. Delay them.’
Merdynn watched Arthur as he cast about hoping to find a plan or stratagem that might save his land. He sighed deeply, feeling the years weighing heavily upon him. Since talking to Lord Venning he had thought long on the possibility of what both he and Arthur now knew to be true. He could only think of one road that held any hope but he could not yet speak of it to Arthur. It was a road he had to choose for himself. And even that path held little or no hope. He faded back into the darkness of the forest leaving Arthur to pace the shadows alone in the falling snow.
