Shadow Lands Trilogy

by Simon Lister

  ‘Any sign of them?’ he asked leaning against the stonework for support.

  ‘No. Strange but good. Perhaps they’ve had enough,’ Aelfhelm said and Trevenna snorted to show what she thought of that particular hope and then added, ‘But it sounds like they’ve begun working on something out there.’

  Cei listened and soon heard the sound of hammering.

  ‘What do you think they’re up to?’ he asked.

  The other two shrugged in unison.

  ‘Building something to breach the wall I suppose,’ Aelfhelm said and turned his gaze out into the swirling rain to search for signs of the enemy approaching.

  Cei watched him and saw how exhausted he looked. He looked thinner, older and immensely tired. He supposed they all did. He looked at the others who were nearby and none of them seemed to be simply villagers any longer. They looked like a strange group; hybrid warriors with the outward appearance of the normal people they had once been but with the taut expressions of those who had been forced to fight and who were now determined to fight on to the death. Their determination was grim but brittle and Cei wondered how long they would be able to carry on this new alien role that had been thrust upon them. Just a few more days, he thought. Just a few more days were all he needed from them.

  He called over to Cardell to select twenty-five of those who most needed rest and to send them down to get out of the rain, eat and find a place to sleep for a few hours. It only left about fifty on the wall but no attack seemed imminent and they needed time away from the tension of keeping watch from the wall. He sent Trevenna to find the two children, Charljenka and Nialgrada, and to get them to start ferrying food up to those still on the wall. More than anything he wanted to sleep but he forced himself to slowly walk back and forth along the length of the wall and to talk to each of the Bretons who stood guard. Over the next few hours their spirits rose. The Adren were not attacking, they had hot food, help was on the way and as Cei pointed out to them, they had held an Adren army at bay for months and they were just peaceful villagers. They warmed to the thought of what the warriors of Britain would do to the Adren when they returned to take back their land and when that time came they would be right by the warriors’ sides to take their own revenge. They passed whetstones from one to another and sharpened their weapons almost wanting the Adren to come again so that they could kill some more of them. Cei felt proud of them, fifty villagers standing at the wall in the rain with the Adren before them and their own dead behind them. He told them so and told them that Bran too would have been proud of them. He told them that they would sing of this defence in the halls of warriors. For generations to come they would sing the song about how the villagers had held the last Breton fortress against the Adren host and that song would be about them. As he made his way down to the hall to see the wounded he silently prayed that the defenders could hold out for another few days and that Cuthwin would return with the fishing boats of Wessex.

  *

  Cuthwin was having problems. A vicious squall had swept across them a few miles out from shore and his lodestone had been washed overboard in the sudden and turbulent waves that had assaulted the boat. He would have to make for the Wessex coast by dead reckoning alone. Merdynn had drawn a map back at the village to show where they were and where the fishing villages were. They had lost the map too so it was all guesswork from now on but none of that really worried him. He was confident he could guide the boat to anywhere he wanted to. What worried him was that they had lost their food and water. He privately blamed Ethain as he had been the one who had secured their stores and equipment in the boat while Cuthwin had been busy making his final checks on the boat itself. Had it been Trevenna with them and not Ethain then she would have stowed their gear properly and they would still have had their supplies. It had quickly become clear to him that Ethain was more of a danger than a help on the boat. With Merdynn’s assistance he had righted the boat and they were back on course and making good speed towards Wessex but he knew it would be a long journey without food and water.

  The Bretons had given them the oiled capes that they wore when they put to sea and the waterproof layer protected them from the worst of the cold spray that the wind was whipping from the tops of the waves. The last of the seagulls that had followed them had already wheeled away to skim the waves back to the shore. They had left the coastal mists behind but the clouds that were beginning to break up still vented spiteful showers across the expanse of the rolling sea. A few miles ahead of them they could see the slanting, grey columns of rain falling seawards as if they were an extension of the clouds from which they fell. The wind was from the southwest and pushed fiercely at their small sail, which was stretched taut and straining against the crude rigging that held it in place. Cuthwin let the boat run with the wind and he kept one hand on the tiller to direct them ever northwards. He had told Merdynn to join Ethain on one side of the boat to counter the tilt and the bows cut through the water that foamed down either side and which left a widening wake trailing behind them across the undulating waves.

  While Cuthwin considered the implications of losing their supplies and while Ethain refined the second and more drastic of his plans for salvation, Merdynn was thinking about greater issues. He let the motion of the boat and the sounds of the sea lull him to the point where they all became part of the same sensation so that they were no more than a distant background to his thoughts.

  He pondered on what King Maldred might have done in Arthur’s absence and whether or not he had agreed to the Mercians helping to defend the Causeway. He weighed the possibilities of the Uathach helping Arthur and whether the Cithol had provided help or if they still remained to be convinced. He thought that perhaps the king had gone to the West after all in which case he would soon be returning with the tribes of Britain. He asked himself so many questions without realising that some of them had already been answered while he had been in the Shadow Lands and that others no longer required an answer.

  Suddenly the thought struck him that if the peoples had not returned yet from the West then the fishing villages would more than likely be empty so there would be no problem in requisitioning at least one of the larger vessels but that raised the question of whether or not the other two could get the boat into the sea and sail it back by themselves. He decided to keep that thought to himself for now. One problem at a time and the first problem was to get there. The one question he kept returning to was that of the Adren and he brooded over his suspicions on who might be leading them and what his purpose may be. They did not seem to be interested in taking slaves or gaining land that they could use to grow crops or for supporting their herds. He considered how the Adren had seemed to slaughter everything and everyone in their path with the exception of the Irrades in the ruined city. Merdynn could only guess that the Adren had formed some kind of alliance with the deformed and poisoned inhabitants of the ruins. As the boat edged northwards and as the first nudges of hunger and thirst reminded him of the loss of their supplies he turned his thoughts solely towards the commander of the vast Adren armies. Merdynn at last confronted the fear that had been growing since the first Adren attack at Lughnasa. The Shadow Land City had closed its gates to outsiders hundreds of years ago but the last news he had received from there was that the city’s ruler had appointed a new counsellor. The brief description he had heard of the new counsellor had set him thinking of those from his Order who had gone into the East a long time ago. At first Merdynn had hoped it was impossible but as the many years passed and as the tales that he heard when he travelled beyond Middangeard grew, his hope had turned to fear. He feared that the Shadow Land City and its Adren armies were commanded by one of his brothers who had disappeared into the East and he feared that Lazure was merely the lieutenant of the more powerful eastern Khan, and his greatest fear was that the Khan of the eastern plains was the most powerful of those that remained from the ancient Order.

  *

  As Arthur’s war band stood on the hill
overlooking the Winter Wood and as Seren and Terrill made their way through the dark tunnels under it, the first sunlight in six months fell across the waves as the small boat neared the mid-way point between the Breton and Wessex coasts. The three seafarers momentarily forgot their thirst and hunger and stared to the West. Wherever the peoples were, whether it was at the Causeway or on the wall of the Breton fortress, everyone who had wintered in Middangeard stopped and stared to the West when the rim of the sun edged over the horizon. Those who could see the sunrise turned their faces to the weak warmth and closed their eyes thankful to have survived another winter. Many of them wondered if they would live to see it set in the autumn or rise once more in a year’s time. Many would not.

  Three days after leaving the Breton fortress they finally saw the dark strip of land before them and they watched it grow as Cuthwin sailed the boat ever closer. Merdynn studied the coastline trying to match the unfamiliar view before him with what he remembered about the shores of Wessex. He thought that they were off the Cornish coast and told Cuthwin to parallel the shore and turn to the East. With the wind behind them they sailed east and scoured the coast for any signs of habitation. Cuthwin took the boat closer to the shore afraid that they might miss one of the small fishing villages and he asked Ethain to scan the bays ahead.

  Ethain did as he was told and used his better eyesight to search the land ahead of them but his thoughts were fixed on the knife by his side. He had decided that if the first village they came across was deserted then he need not do anything too hasty. If that were the case he would have plenty of time to decide what to do but if he spotted an inhabited village first then he would have to decide before the others saw it or, more importantly, before the villagers saw them.

  For the last three days he had struggled to find it within himself to either return to the fortress or to go on with Merdynn to the Causeway. He could do neither. He wanted no more part of it. Any lingering thoughts of loyalty to his friends or his people had been finally stripped away during the journey across the cold sea. He felt that perhaps he was capable of one last act of courage; the courage to kill his two companions and then run. He quailed at the thought of facing either Cuthwin or Merdynn and so he had decided that he would wait until their backs were turned. He thought that if could despatch them both while at sea then he could just take the boat into the shore and head deep into Wessex. Word would never reach Britain about Cei and the fortress. The Adren would soon overrun the Bretons and there would be no one left to reveal his part in it all. He could find refuge in some remote part of Wessex and, he thought, never have to face either the Adren or his conscience again. He would be safe at last. He refused to call it treachery. He reasoned that he was being true to himself so how could that be treachery? If by some misfortune he was discovered and brought before Arthur then he could just claim that the others died in the Shadow Lands and he had only just returned and was still too horrified by all that had happened to be able to act rationally. Had he been thinking more coherently then he might have asked himself how such a meeting with Arthur would end and what his actions might mean for the safety of Britain but he had left such thoughts of consequences far behind.

  His heart jumped and adrenaline pumped through his body. He thought he had seen signs of a village a few miles ahead of them. He waited as the boat rose on the next wave and he casually studied the cove ahead. It was definitely a village but he could not be sure if its population had returned yet. He waited impatiently while the boat wallowed between two waves then stood up as it climbed the shallow trough.

  ‘What is it? Do you see a fishing village?’ Cuthwin asked. He did not bother to follow Ethain’s gaze but studied his face instead.

  Ethain’s thoughts raced. ‘Yes. A few miles further on. Definitely a fishing village and it looks like it’s inhabited too.’

  Merdynn clapped his chaffed hands in delight and performed a little jig which nearly sent him crashing overboard as he lost his balance on the rolling boat. Undeterred he beamed at the other two and congratulated them on their joint achievement.

  ‘Will we sail in? Or row?’ Ethain asked.

  ‘We’ll sail a bit closer then row in,’ Cuthwin answered and grinned at him thinking that with luck they could be back at the Breton village within a day.

  Ethain was thinking that if he could take the tiller and get Cuthwin to take down the sail then he would be behind both Merdynn and the Anglian.

  ‘It’ll be quicker if we beach the boat this side of the breakwater rather than have to sail around it and tack back,’ Ethain suggested. He did not want them to get too close to the village as they might be spotted and it would be more difficult for him to hide the bodies. For a moment the realisation of what he was planning struck him with a cold shock. A voice inside quickly soothed him saying that these two and the Bretons were all going to be killed by the Adren anyway and that this was the only way he would survive the massacres ahead.

  ‘Good plan,’ Merdynn said and Ethain stared wildly at him thinking he had read his thoughts but Merdynn was pointing to a place where Cuthwin could land the boat a few hundred yards this side of the breakwater.

  ‘I’ll take the tiller, you get the sail,’ Ethain said to Cuthwin.

  ‘Look who’s taking charge now that we’re safely here!’ Cuthwin laughed and stood to make room for Ethain.

  Ethain edged past him as the boat rocked from side to side. Cuthwin started to furl the sail. He was facing away from Ethain as he worked the sail loose. Cuthwin’s legs automatically absorbed the rolling of the boat and Ethain’s fear increased as he realised that the young Anglian’s natural balance on the boat would give him a distinct advantage if he didn’t strike cleanly. Merdynn was kneeling in the water that slopped about the bottom of the boat as he struggled to free the oars. They both had their backs to Ethain and he drew the knife from his belt.

  ‘So, what are you going to do now?’ Merdynn asked, still on his knees and fighting the long oars.

  ‘What?’ Ethain stared at the old man’s back, again shaken by his words.

  ‘On to the Causeway with me or head back with Cuthwin?’

  Ethain steadied his balance and took an uncertain step towards Cuthwin. ‘Neither,’ Ethain replied and rammed his knife upwards into Cuthwin’s back.

  Cuthwin fell forward into the sail and tore it free as he fell. The sail wrapped around him as he half turned to face his attacker. He tried to free his sword but the sail pinned his arm to his side. Ethain fell on him with a maddened howl and the knife flew back and forth in arcs of blood as he struck repeatedly at Cuthwin’s chest. The canvas sail was drenched in blood and Cuthwin stared lifelessly at the sky.

  Merdynn was scrambling to his feet and about to draw Leah’s sword that still hung at his side. Ethain turned to him with tears running through the blood that had splashed his face. As Ethain came at him Merdynn saw that all sanity had left his eyes and then he felt the thump of the knife as it punctured his stomach. Ethain struck again and the pain registered in a piercing agony that doubled him over and paralysed his limbs as he slumped down over Cuthwin. With his hands clutched to the wounds in his stomach he stared up at Ethain and muttered through teeth clenched in pain, ‘Cei? The others? Arthur? Why? Gods, why?’

  But it was unlikely that Ethain even heard the questions. He was gibbering uncontrollably and the only words that Merdynn could make out were ‘no more’ repeated over and over. Suddenly Ethain flung the knife into the waves, grabbed Merdynn’s staff and leapt from the boat. Merdynn could hear him thrashing towards the shore as he struggled to remain conscious.

  He forced himself to his knees with both hands still tightly pressing his stomach and his face sliding along the rough wood of the boat. He looked at Cuthwin and knew immediately that the Anglian was dead. He cursed and slid his face upwards against the side of the rocking boat until he could see over the edge. Ethain was already nearing the shore and Merdynn stretched out a shaking hand towards him. He uttered a string of wo
rds in an ancient language that ended in a groan of pain as he felt consciousness slipping away. He forced himself to breathe deeply and the enveloping blackness abated for a moment. He took his eyes away from the figure crawling onto the shore on all fours and looked towards the breakwater that was only a hundred yards away and the village that lay just beyond the rocky outcrop. He knew he had to reach it. Tentatively he took one bloody hand away from his midriff and stretched out for one of the oars. Agony flashed through him and he cried out and collapsed once more into the swilling blood-mixed water at the bottom of the boat. He had to get to the village. He had to get help for Cei and the others. He tried to move again but his strength was draining rapidly.

  A young girl from the village was standing on the breakwater watching the small boat bobbing on the waves when she heard a thin wail of rage and despair that caused the seagulls around her to take to the air in raucous alarm. She turned and fled back to the village.

  *

  Cei was in the hall with the wounded. He was sitting by Leah and holding her hand. On the other side of her sat Aelfhelm and Trevenna. They had been talking quietly when Leah stirred into wakefulness. Cei bent over her and spoke to her softly.

  Leah turned her reddened eyes up to him. ‘Is Herewulf safe?’ she asked weakly.

  Cei looked across to the other two and was about to reply when Leah spoke again.

  ‘No. No, he’s dead isn’t he? They’re all dead aren’t they?’

  Cei reached for a cup of water and brought it to her lips. Trevenna raised Leah’s head a little from the pillow so that she could drink. More spilled from the corners of her mouth than she actually drank but she nodded gratefully. The fever seemed to have abated a little and she was lucid but the others had seen what was happening a dozen times before. Most of the warriors feared two kinds of death and this was one of them, a slow lingering death from an infected wound. The other kind was to die screaming on a battlefield for hours or days on end long after all help had left you behind. They held firmly to the belief that if you had to die then do it quickly and have done with it. Leah was not so lucky.