Shadow Lands Trilogy

by Simon Lister

  She looked at him warily still suspecting some kind of trap.

  ‘Please!’ he hissed at her and she finally wriggled into the passage with Terrill following close behind her.

  They crawled through the tunnel with frantic haste and once they were in the main larger tunnels they sprinted upwards fearing that at any second they would hear the sounds of pursuit.

  They burst out into the harsh spring sunshine of the Winter Wood and immediately flinched and covered their eyes. For a moment they stood there recovering from their flight and letting their eyes grow more accustomed to the blinding daylight.

  ‘Why? After all you’ve done, why?’ Seren asked, still fighting for breath.

  ‘Because Lord Venning is wrong. Lazure will enslave us. Only Arthur is prepared to protect us from the Adren.’

  ‘They’ll be dead already if Lazure’s used the tunnel under the Causeway!’

  ‘Don’t accuse me now, Seren. Now’s not the time. I’ve already put some supplies in the copse where the Britons go. We have to get there quickly.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘As you said. We have to get to the Causeway and warn Arthur.’

  ‘What changed your mind?’

  Seren still looked at him with deep suspicion and he threw his hands out in a gesture of exasperation.

  ‘Not now, Seren. You’re free. You’re in the Winter Wood. We’re heading for the Causeway and Arthur. Take this for now and follow me.’

  Captain Terrill turned without saying more and started off for the copse on the hill. Seren looked around once and clenched her hands in joy at being free and then followed quickly after the departing Terrill.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Adren attack on the Causeway had stalled at the gap before the Gates giving Arthur’s warriors a few days of respite from the constant fighting. During those days a battery of fifty bowmen manned the walls firing intermittent volleys of arrows into the fog on the far side of the Causeway and every thirty minutes or so the large catapult sent its missiles arcing over the main gate of the fort and up into the mist.

  There was no way of knowing how much damage either assault was causing but they had generous stockpiles of supplies for both the catapult and the longbows and they knew where the Adren were on the far side. The Adren were maintaining their own intermittent fire and the Britons in the compound hurried across open spaces and only put down their shields when they were sheltered from the Adren arrows by the wall or the two long houses in the centre of the fort.

  The fog still lay thickly about them clinging wetly to clothes and sending a penetrating cold deep to the bone. Groups of warriors tried to ease their aching muscles and tired limbs as they huddled around numerous fires that had been lit in the shelter of the East Wall. Many of the Britons had revived their winter habit of laying large stones beside or under the fires and then retrieving them when it came to their turn to sleep; wrapped in cloth the stones would keep warm and radiate heat for hours afterwards.

  One of the buildings in the middle of the compound was used to treat and house the wounded while the kitchens had been set up in the other. A constant stream of warriors hurried across to the latter to have their eating bowls refilled with the hot, meaty broth that was kept simmering over the cooking fires.

  From where Morgund sat with his back to the East Wall he could see neither of the two buildings, only the warriors hurrying into the fog and returning later trying not to spill their steaming bowls. He stood up and stamped the life back into his legs before picking up his longbow and staring out through one of the nearby firing slits in the wall. He fitted an arrow to the bow and sighted into the mist to where he judged the far side of the gap to be and sent the arrow flying into the fog. After staring for a while longer into the blank whiteness he returned to the group by the fire.

  ‘Hit anything?’ Morveren asked as he sat back down.

  ‘Two Adren captains.’

  ‘Not bad with one arrow.’

  They lapsed back into silence enjoying the heat from the fire on their faces while trying to ignore the coldness settling on their backs. An hour or two passed during which Cael helped himself to another meal from the kitchens while the others derided him with their customary taunts and jibes.

  Ruadan and Hengest joined them for a while and Morveren asked Hengest again how the huge crossbow mounted above the gate worked. Hengest explained patiently how the mechanism wound the entwined hemp back before the firing pin unleashed the hollow wooden tube filled with arrowheads, broken knife blades and large iron nails. He went on to explain how the wooden canister was caught by two upright iron stays at the end of the crossbow while the deadly contents splayed out to rake through the air decimating anything in its path for up to fifty or so feet but Morveren had stopped following him when he had attempted to explain how the winding mechanism had produced the extraordinary tension necessary to unleash such a force. As before, she ended up nodding wisely at his enthusiastic explanation without having understood much of it at all.

  ‘Have you seen Ceinwen?’ Ruadan asked when Hengest had finished.

  ‘Treating the injured as ever. Including Balor. And good luck to her,’ Morgund answered.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Another nasty scalp wound, lots of blood but he’ll be fine which is more than you can say for his temper.’

  ‘Ugly?’

  ‘About as ugly as the scar will be on his shiny head.’

  ‘We’d better see about rescuing her then.’

  As Ruadan and Hengest hurried off into the fog the catapult near the gates crashed into action once again causing the three warriors by the fire to jump in unison.

  ‘Bloody thing! You’d have thought we’d have got used to it by now,’ Cael said, eyeing his spilt food ruefully.

  ‘Imagine what effect it’s having on the Adren, a massive great boulder dropping out of the fog on your head,’ Morveren pointed out.

  ‘You didn’t understand a word of Hengest’s explanation did you?’ Morgund asked her.

  She grinned and shook her head, ‘No. And that’s the third time I’ve asked him too. I understand the basic principle, same as a longbow really, but I can’t see how it works in practice.’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Morgund asked.

  ‘No. I saw the mess it made on the bridge. I don’t care how it works just so long as it does. And just so long as the Adren don’t have anything like it. It’s no way for a warrior to die.’

  ‘Perfect way to kill Adren though.’

  ‘Right. I’m off to get some food,’ Cael said, and the other two stared at him.

  ‘All this talk of slaughter making you hungry is it?’ Morveren asked.

  ‘Well, I spilled my last lot when that bloody catapult fired again.’

  ‘But that was your third helping anyway,’ Morveren said exasperated.

  ‘Still spilled it,’ Cael said and left to redress the injustice.

  ‘Nothing stops him, does it?’ Morveren said as they watched him disappear into the fog.

  ‘Eating?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No. He’s the perfect example of a warrior. Nothing puts him off his food. The only time I’ve ever seen him concerned was in the Shadow Lands and then it wasn’t the Adren armies but the fact that we were getting very low on supplies,’ Morgund said, smiling at the memory.

  ‘I saw him eyeing our horses at one stage, and there wasn’t much meat on them.’

  Once again they lapsed back into silence and listened to the noise of the Adren as they worked away on the far side of the Causeway.

  ‘I wonder what they’re up to,’ Morveren said after a while.

  ‘Trying to bridge the gap somehow. We’ll probably find out soon enough.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose we will. I wish this fog would burn off.’

  Morgund looked into her eyes as she spoke and thought he saw uncertainty there. ‘Are you all right?’

  She looked up surprised by the question, ‘How do you mean?�
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  ‘Talan, Tamsyn, Elowen, Tomas – you were close to them all and well, even Ethain is off somewhere in the Shadow Lands.’

  ‘I can’t help any of them now, they’re gone and that’s that. I can’t change anything that has happened so I just try not to think too much about the past, or the future come to that. It’s all about now really isn’t it? I mean if we can’t stop the Adren then we’ll be joining them, won’t we? And if we do beat the Adren then I’ll have time to think about them later, won’t I?’

  Morgund smiled at her nodding in agreement and she wished that she had just answered with a simple ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ but now that she had started she found that she wanted to tell him the truth of how she felt, how she had to fight down her fear before each Adren attack. Once the fighting started her anxiety vanished but the waiting always saw it creep back to her carrying with it the reminder that many of her friends had died already and if death could take them then it could take her too. Each time she had hid her fear from the others until she had been able to master it and stand before the enemy with courage. Her courage did not spring from some noble idea that she was defending her land and people but from her absolute faith in their warlord who she would follow anywhere and from the utter conviction that she must never let down the friends and warriors standing with her. Death was preferable to failing her friends. She wondered if the joy she felt during and after a battle was partly due to having overcome the fear she had felt before it.

  She wanted to tell these things to the man sitting opposite her but she feared that he would not understand her feelings or worse, ridicule them. She was mildly surprised to find that she cared so much about what Morgund thought of her. Over the last few weeks she had come to value his company more and more, both as a friend and a warrior, and she wanted him to think well of her too. She wondered if perhaps Morgund just hid his fear better than she did but he seemed to be fearless before battle and a natural warrior who relished the fighting and revelled in killing the enemy.

  They both looked at each other as another rumbling crash came from the Adren side of the gap in the Causeway.

  ‘I wish this fog would lift then we’d be able to see what they were doing across there,’ Morveren said.

  ‘I think it is. A bit at least. You can make out the kitchens.’ He pointed across the compound to where the two central buildings could now be vaguely seen.

  ‘We’re just in a lighter patch. It’ll close in again,’ she answered and paused before continuing, ‘You don’t feel any fear before battle do you?’

  Morgund snorted in disagreement, ‘Of course I do. Everyone does but it’s how you use and control it that matters. The first few times in battle, especially when you’re young, you only really feel the excitement and exhilaration but after a while you begin to wonder if you actually are invincible then you start worrying about how many times you can cheat death before it catches up with you. That’s a dangerous time because when you start thinking like that you start acting differently which only makes it more likely that you will be killed.’

  ‘So what do you do then?’

  ‘Stop thinking like that straight away. Look, everyone dies at some time. There’s nothing you can do about an arrow flying out of nowhere and taking your life so there’s no point in worrying about that. Just fight the battle before you, trust to your skill and luck and make sure you kill the bastard in front of you. Just make sure it isn’t your turn to die.’

  She laughed, ‘Simple as that?’

  ‘Simple as that,’ he grinned back at her.

  ‘You really think everyone feels fear?’

  ‘Yes. Well, I suppose some don’t. Occasionally you get a complete madman who doesn’t but they don’t last long usually. You just need to accept the fear when it surfaces, ride it to its crest then let it spill into anger and violence and then it’s a wonderful feeling and nothing can match it.’

  ‘Nothing?’ she asked, smiling innocently at him.

  He laughed before replying, ‘I’ve seen it grip you, Balor, Mar’h, even Ceinwen, everyone.’

  ‘Arthur too?’

  ‘He’s different.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He just is. He’s the best warrior and best commander you’ll ever see. The best any of us will ever see. It’s impossible to imagine him afraid of anything.’

  ‘Maybe it’s easy not to be afraid when you’re as strong, fast, skilled and ruthless as he is.’

  ‘True, but there’s far more to it than that. Few can command a battle like he can. He’s always in exactly the right place and right in the thick of it too. And more importantly he somehow sees the whole battle and knows how to control it.’

  ‘He nearly got caught on the Causeway.’

  ‘But that’s the point. Even then he held those around him together and fought his way back to the Gates. If he hadn’t done that then they would have broken through there and then.’ As Morgund finished speaking another thunderous crashing sound came from the gap and they both shot to their feet.

  ‘Let’s see if we can make out anything from the wall,’ Morveren said and led the way up to the already crowded parapet. As she climbed the ladder she wondered if he was looking up at her. He was.

  The fog had thinned and the visibility had increased to about a hundred yards. Everyone on the wall could see what the Adren were doing. Great tree trunks, cut from the far shores, had been rolled and carried the length of the Causeway and were being tipped down into the gap before the Gates. The Adren clearly meant to fill the cutting with hundreds of felled trees and already the floor of the gap was covered by the trunks that had been rolled down the far side.

  The watching warriors were brought back to life by Arthur shouting for bowmen to line the walls and commence firing. As he strode below where Morgund and Morveren stood they saw him look to the fog-obscured west and heard him ask Gwyna where Ablach’s Uathach were.

  *

  Ablach’s warriors were already on the headland. Seren and Terrill could see their camp from over a mile away. Dozens of fires sent their white smoke directly upwards in the still air and strands of mist crept over the edge of the cliffs beyond the camp. Their journey to the Causeway had been unhindered and if they were being pursued then they had seen no sign of it. Their eyes had become more accustomed to what, for them, was the blinding sunlight of early spring but they still travelled with their hoods drawn closely around their faces. In truth it was a watery sun filtered through the haze created by a land returning to life after the long winter. The sun was still low on the western horizon and throughout their journey it had been to their backs but still they had struggled with the unfamiliar brightness that bathed the landscape.

  They had stopped by a strand of trees to eat the last of their bread and take a mouthful of water before crossing the last stretch of land to the cliffs. Neither of them had been this way before but the Westway was a broad and levelled road and it was easy to follow as it wound its way southeast across the rolling countryside on its way to the Causeway.

  The journey from the copse above the Winter Wood had taken them much longer than they had expected and they both felt sore and weary from travelling so many miles on the cart that Terrill had prepared for their flight. Seren had spent the early part of the journey bitterly accusing Terrill of betrayal but she had soon realised the pointlessness of her recriminations and they had made their peace at the start of the second day of travelling. As they rested in the thin shade offered by the trees Seren pointed to the camp, ‘Is that Arthur’s camp?’

  ‘It must be. At least part of it. The rest must be down on the Causeway,’ Terrill answered and handed her the last of the water.

  She swigged it gratefully and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. ‘Then we must be in time. Lazure can’t have used the tunnel yet!’

  ‘Ready for one last push then?’ Terrill asked, standing up and stretching out his hand to her. Seren ignored the proffered hand and stared past him. He turned to follow her
gaze and saw what had caught her eye. A group of horsemen were approaching fast and the drumming sound of their hooves on the hard earth grew rapidly as they drew nearer. Seren finally stood and together they stepped out of the shelter of the trees to meet the horsemen.

  Terrill looked around at their faces as they encircled them hoping to see a familiar face from Caer Sulis but he recognised none of them. Some of the riders had drawn weapons and the two Cithol immediately felt threatened. They instinctively edged closer to each other as the horsemen shifted around them. Terrill thought that even by Briton standards they looked unkempt and wild.

  One of the mounted warriors barked a question at them. They looked at each other but neither had understood what the warrior had said.

  ‘We’re looking for Arthur. We have important news for him,’ Terrill said to the ring of warriors with his earlier misgivings about the Britons resurfacing strongly.

  The one who had questioned them before spoke again. Terrill thought he made out most of what was said but the accent was unlike any he had heard before and the words were spoken too quickly for him to catch it all.

  ‘Arthur of the Britons?’ Seren tried and pointed to the settlement of tents and fires on the headland.

  On hearing her voice and realising that the smaller of the two cloaked strangers before them was a woman the horsemen focused their attention on her. One of them nudged his horse closer to her and tried to flip back the hood covering her face with the tip of his sword. She ducked and quickly stepped backwards. Their apparent leader spoke harshly to him and he pulled his horse back with a curse and a final leer at the cloaked and hooded Seren. The one with the ruddy complexion and braided beard, who seemed to be their leader, beckoned for them to follow him and he turned his horse away. Seren and Terrill exchanged a nervous glance but realised they had little choice and followed after the departing horseman with the others falling in to either side and behind them.

  ‘I could hardly understand anything they said,’ Seren said quietly leaning her head towards Terrill.