Shadow Lands Trilogy

by Simon Lister

  ‘And Morgund?’ she asked, feigning nonchalance.

  ‘There’ll be a lot of happy husbands if he didn’t.’

  ‘And unhappy wives,’ Morveren added ruefully.

  Arthur turned to look at her but she was looking studiously out towards the dark sea. He smiled to himself and they continued onwards with the wind whipping around them tugging at their cloaks and rifling their horses’ manes. The clouds had hurried away to the East where a rolling bank was all that remained of the blizzard, lit by the moon in shades of bright white and utter black. The ground before them was now well lit and only lost definition with distance. The wind had not dropped and it seemed that an autumn mist clung to the ground as far as they could see but it was just the snow being sifted and drifting across the fen lands.

  Arthur’s gaze kept returning to the moon. Its cold light denied the heavens to all but the brightest stars on their slow journey across the winter sky. His thoughts turned inevitably back to Fin Seren. It seemed to him that since he had last seen her the time had been filled with either fighting the Adren or planning how to fight them and that he had had little time to dwell upon his feelings for the Cithol woman whose heart he could not read. He thought that perhaps that was why he had fallen in love with her so quickly and equally why he had not fallen in love with any of his own people. It struck him as strange that he could only love a person that he could not read. Perhaps it was only because he could not see the whole of her heart that he was free to place his faith in it. His faith could not be contradicted. He felt troubled by the implication that his feelings and judgement were based on faith and not knowledge. Until now he had not put any store in faith, he had trusted only what could be trusted. He wondered if he was making a mistake in abandoning that principle.

  They were beginning to approach the beacon so he put the issue to one side and concentrated instead on what lay ahead. Morveren’s eyesight was slightly better than his was and she spotted the longboats first, pointing out to Arthur where they were beached to one side of the blazing fire. They realised it must be two of the boats that had made it out of the cove and they quickened their pace.

  *

  Bowmen covered them as they approached the beacon until Ceinwen recognised their respective and contrasting riding styles. She called out to Morgund who joined her and they held the horses as Arthur and Morveren dismounted and the two riders exchanged a glance to acknowledge the answer to their earlier questions regarding the two before them.

  ‘Did everyone make it safely out and across?’ Arthur asked.

  ‘Yes, we did, at least everyone who made it onto the boats. We haven’t seen Ruraidh’s boat but I think he made it out of the cove,’ Ceinwen answered.

  ‘We got here first on Lissa’s boat then set up the beacon to help guide in yours or Aylydd’s,’ Morgund added.

  ‘We landed down the coast. Are you all fit to travel?’ Arthur asked as they made their way to the blazing beacon.

  ‘It’ll take us a while to get the horses ready but yes, even the wounded can travel on horseback or on stretchers between horses. Should we wait for Ruraidh’s boat?’ Ceinwen asked.

  ‘They would have headed for the coast further to the North. Without horses they would have wanted to land as near to their village as they could,’ Arthur replied.

  ‘What about Gwyna and the other wounded Uathach?’ Morgund asked.

  ‘Where are they?’

  Morgund led them to where the wounded lay or sat near the fire while Ceinwen started to organise the saddling of the horses. Arthur and Morveren walked among those who had been injured, exchanging comments and greetings until they saw Gwyna off to one side. Arthur turned to Morgund and asked him to bring them some food then sat down next to Gwyna while Morveren moved closer to the fire to warm herself.

  ‘How’s your shoulder?’ he asked her.

  ‘It’s improving, you have a good healer,’ she replied. Arthur was surprised. He had expected another surly outburst from the young daughter of Ablach.

  ‘Good. Can you ride?’ Arthur said.

  ‘Yes. If I had a horse to ride.’

  ‘Your companion?’

  Gwyna looked at the figure laid out beside her, now deeply asleep after taking one of Ceinwen’s powders, and shook her head.

  ‘Well, you can take a horse if you wish and make north, we’ll look after your companion.’

  Gwyna looked reluctant to take up the offer.

  ‘Or you can both come south with us and take the supplies back to your people when you think he’s fit to travel.’

  Gwyna looked at him and Arthur saw none of the hatred that had masked her face when they were on the other side of the sea. He noticed the bruising on the side of her face from where he had struck her and he noticed something else in her eyes too, an appraising steady look. Gradually she nodded and lowered her eyes. Arthur was amused by the change in her; clearly the last few days had either knocked the fight out of her or she had been forced to change her opinion of the southern warriors.

  ‘You don’t expect a trap? You no longer want to take my head back as a prize for your father?’ he asked, enjoying her discomfort.

  She remained looking at the ground as she replied, ‘You and your war band fought well. All of you. Both at the Adren camp and at the cove. Ceinwen has treated my shoulder well and Mar’h and that one helped me out of the Adren camp and across the plain,’ she said nodding towards Morveren.

  ‘They may have helped you across the plain but it was Elowen who dragged you out of the camp,’ Arthur replied.

  ‘Then I owe Elowen too,’ Gwyna said wearily.

  ‘Elowen died at the camp.’

  Gwyna lowered her head further and Arthur thought he saw her sigh. ‘I will travel south with you and then take the supplies back to my people, if you still intend the offer,’ she said.

  Lissa and Aylydd were not happy about having to leave their longboats on the beach but few wanted to board them again and sail south. Arthur pointed out that they would not be able to sail them anywhere near to the Causeway and they would have to beach them somewhere. Once the sun rose in spring they could come back and take them up one of the rivers and into the fens, until then they should be well out of the reach of the winter seas.

  They scooped up snow and sand with their shields to put out the beacon and they made their way south, retracing the journey made earlier by Arthur and Morveren. Arthur rode with Morgund and Cael discussing who had escaped from the cove and whom they had left behind. Morveren rode with Ceinwen, Gwyna and the wounded, surprised to find herself slightly resenting not being able to ride alone with Arthur.

  When they reached the rest of the warriors, camped around Elwyn’s longboat, Arthur sought out Mar’h. He had been busy feeding the horses and saddling them. Arthur did not need to ask him what his choice had been; one look at his face told him all he needed to know. Mar’h was resolved to close a door on the past and face what lay ahead. It only remained to be seen if he was capable of doing so.

  They packed what little they had left and headed south to the Causeway.

  Chapter Twelve

  Of the eighty who had left the Causeway only forty returned. Cei had taken eighteen into the Shadow Lands and the rest were dead. The lookouts on the cliffs above the Gates saw the war band winding their way along the coastal path under a crescent moon. The news of their approach raced down to the Anglian camp and Ruadan and Hengest watched Arthur’s warriors snake their way down to the Causeway.

  In the cold moonlight Ruadan’s eyes darted along the approaching line of horsemen as he softly counted under his breath. He stopped counting at thirty-eight with a curse. His face became grim and he started counting again.

  ‘I made it thirty-nine, not counting the ones on stretchers,’ Hengest said as Ruadan continued, desperately hoping they were both wrong.

  ‘And I don’t see Cei. Or Merdynn,’ Hengest said, then added in a quieter voice, ‘or my Father.’

  Ruadan drew a hand acros
s his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing in deeply. ‘Perhaps there’s more to follow,’ he said without any real conviction. They both descended from the wall to meet the returning warriors.

  Arthur led his riders through the gates. All the warriors in the compound, those from Arthur and Cei’s war bands who had garrisoned the Gates while their companions travelled the Shadow Lands, gathered to watch them enter. They stood on the battlements and outside the two wooden halls. They watched from the line of tents and they watched from the gates. They all stood silently, looking at the gaunt faces and weary figures as they stiffly dismounted. They stood silently and wondered what stories were behind this band of exhausted warriors, some without shields, some carrying injuries and all of them looking worn and empty. They searched for the faces of their friends and names were spoken quietly, the names of those they could not see among the survivors.

  The Anglians were dismayed that Cei was not amongst them. Other names followed, Trevenna, Aelfhelm, Leah, Cerdic, the list went on. Tamsyn stood to one side, searching the heavily cloaked figures for her friends. She finally saw Morveren and she barely recognised her.

  Ruadan and Hengest approached Arthur. Ruadan embraced Ceinwen and they held each other for a long time.

  ‘Cei? Aelfhelm?’ Hengest asked quickly and then more guardedly, ‘Trevenna?’

  ‘Not everyone missing is lost. But first, we have wounded. The horses need feed. We need food and we need warmth and rest.’

  ‘Of course,’ Ruadan said and stirred the onlookers into action. Suddenly the watchers moved to their friends and companions and the questions started.

  Once the injured were taken from Ceinwen’s care and the horses led away, Arthur made for the eating hall. He sat wearily at a table and poured himself a cup of wine. Ruadan noted Arthur’s slumped shoulders, the ice melting in his beard, the dried sea salt and blood on his winter clothing and the weary way he poured himself a second cup of wine, but his gaze was not distant nor were his reddened eyes glazed. There may have been dark patches under the gray eyes but they were hard and cold and still uncompromising.

  Arthur first asked if there had been any attacks on the Gates and Ruadan told him there had been no sign of the Adren on the Causeway. Satisfied with that news Arthur then related the entire journey through the Shadow Lands. The hall was crowded with as many as could fit in and they sat or stood silently while Arthur related the events from across the Causeway. Heroic deeds, deaths, battles, hardships, the immense Adren armies and camps, the ambushes, the slaughter of the villages and the subsequent feasting upon the dead, all were met in silence as Arthur narrated the tale. The time for questions, praise and expressions of grief and horror would follow later with the countless retelling of the various stages of the sortie across the Causeway but this was the time for listening to the whole tale told by the warlord who would neither understate nor exaggerate. This was the report that could be believed entirely for it told of what happened and why it happened. Other tales would follow from different perspectives, Berwyn and Saewulf’s tale of the Belgae, Elwyn’s tale of the winter sea crossing, and Balor’s boasts of battle.

  Then the quieter stories would come, told to only a few at a time. Mar’h would tell of the hut in the Adren camp although he would take a care to keep silent about Caja being one of the victims. Ceinwen would tell of the death of Sawan. Balor would relate what he saw after the interrogation of the Adren Captain. Morgund the meeting with the Uathach. The beheading of the Adren. Individual versions of the battle at the cove and personal opinions on the departure of Cei and Merdynn to stem the Adren supplies. How and where each warrior had died. Countless tales to be told and each would grow in the retelling.

  Once Arthur had concluded the tale of the Shadow Lands he got up silently and left the hall to find a warm, dry place to sleep. Gwyna, alone in the hall of her enemies, stood against a wall in the shadows of the hall where she had watched Arthur speak. Her gaze followed him as he opened the door to the hall and walked out into the moonlit night. The noise grew in the hall as everyone started talking at once. Questions were fired at the warriors who had returned from the East and as tired as they were they nonetheless answered them with the eagerness of those at the centre of a tale. As the wine flowed and stories were embellished, Gwyna slipped out of the door unnoticed and followed Arthur.

  She saw him walk across the compound towards the lines of tents against the West wall. Fires burned in front of the tents and a canvas canopy stretched over both the tents and the fires to keep the warmth in for those who were sleeping. She looked around furtively but no one was watching her and she made her way to the one that Arthur had entered. She stood outside with her heart hammering in her chest. Still she hesitated, caught in two opposing minds.

  Arthur peeled off his heavy winter clothing and lay down between two layers of sheepskin bedding. He stared at the canvas above him as he tried to still his mind from reliving the events and decisions of the past few months. For several minutes he was unaware of the figure deliberating outside his tent before the soft shuffle of pines underfoot alerted him. He watched as the fire outlined the shadow of a figure bending down to unfasten the ties securing the entrance. As the figure crawled into the tent on all fours her face was momentarily lit by the fire outside. Arthur saw it was Gwyna.

  ‘What do you want here, Gwyna?’ he asked.

  She knelt by his side, her face and intent hidden in the darkness.

  ‘You. I’m an Uathach alone amongst the southern war bands. Here I’m safe.’

  Arthur watched her in the darkness as she eased her leather jerkin off her injured and bandaged shoulder then pulled her woollen top off over her head. He watched the curve of her breasts, outlined against the lit canvas behind her as she turned to face him again.

  ‘Move over. I’ll freeze out here,’ she said with an anxious smile.

  Arthur inched over holding up the top sheepskin cover and Gwyna slid between the layers. Hoisting herself off the ground she worked her trousers off and cast them to one side of the low bed. She moved closer to Arthur until her head was resting on his shoulder with her long hair strewn across his chest. She rested her thigh across his knees and slowly slid it over the top of his legs, moving her body closer into him. Arthur watched her shadowed face, only inches away as she drew her teeth lightly across his shoulder. Suddenly her hand whipped round and plunged down toward his chest.

  The knife stopped just above his heart, her wrist gripped tightly in his hand. He wrenched the hand to one side and the knife flew free then flung her to one side, rolling on top of her. He pinned her hands to the ground above her head and as she struggled he worked his legs between hers and forced them apart. She ceased writhing and they stopped, both breathing hard. In the faint glow from the fire outside they stared at each other.

  Gwyna hadn’t really expected to be able to assassinate Arthur so easily and as she stared into his eyes she finally acknowledged that her hatred of him and all he stood for was equally matched by her attraction to the power it represented and to the man who wielded that power. It was that attraction that had drawn her to Arthur’s tent.

  Still pinning her wrists over her head with one hand, Arthur gradually ran his other hand down the side of her still bruised face and down the length of her throat. Her breaths shortened as his hand continued on down her body and without saying a word to each other they wiped away the memories and fear of the past few months and expressed the joy and relief of surviving with a night of fierce, loveless sex. Some hours later she quietly left Arthur’s tent.

  When Arthur emerged from his tent he felt content and satisfied. He neither felt any longing for Gwyna nor any remorse over their joint release. Neither did it seem strange to him that she had tried to kill him. He knew that the more extreme a passion becomes the closer it sometimes gets to its opposite. He had no doubt that as Gwyna had knelt outside his tent she had hated him and everything he stood for and that she had meant to kill him if it was possi
ble. It hadn’t been possible and sex had substituted as the necessary outlet for the violence they mutually felt. He understood her better, and was perhaps more similar to her, than he would have liked to admit.

  The rest of the returned warriors had found their way to the tents after drinking their way through the first round of tales and were still sleeping soundly. Arthur sought out Ruadan and started to organise the supplies that Gwyna would take to Ablach’s village, Dalchiaran, somewhere to the North of Anglia. He decided that Mar’h, Berwyn and Saewulf should go with Gwyna and her wounded companion. The two Anglians were now familiar with Ruraidh and the others in his band, and they in turn trusted them. Mar’h would represent Arthur and the Wessex war band and, as he had helped to carry the injured Gwyna from the Belgae village, Arthur felt that Gwyna would trust him. Arthur hoped that between Mar’h and the two Anglians they could stress to Ablach that the Adren armies threatened both of their lands equally.

  A few hours later three carts left the Causeway, laden with supplies and heading north. Arthur saw them off through the gates and apart from one exchanged look with Gwyna, it was as if nothing had passed between the two of them.

  Once the carts had climbed the paths up to the cliff tops Arthur and Ruadan took their horses and slowly rode east along the Causeway towards the watchers at the far end. Ruadan asked him further questions about the journey in the Shadow Lands, particularly about Cei and Merdynn’s departure and their mission. Arthur had already told Ceinwen the true nature of Cei’s quest and he now told Ruadan. He asked Ruadan to tell Hengest and that would bring to four those who knew how much depended on the venture deep in the Shadow Lands.

  Ruadan was shocked that Arthur felt it necessary to gamble so much with such a slim chance of success. Even though he had listened to the reports of how many Adren lay across the Causeway it was not until that moment that he realised just how precarious their position was. Ceinwen had been shocked too but for different reasons. She had seen the forces arrayed against them and fully realised what they faced but what shocked her was that Arthur was prepared to send so many of those close to him to their certain deaths. She did not think they would be returning and she hated Arthur for throwing their lives away on a foolish hope and she had told Ruadan as much.