Shadow Lands Trilogy

by Simon Lister

Arthur’s warriors had just arrived back at the copse above the Winter Wood. They had harried and attacked the column constantly over the last few days but the Adren had pressed on towards the Veiled City and there was nothing that the warriors could do to slow their advance. The Adren were only ten miles behind them.

  In the centre of the camp Hengest, Gereint and Gwyna stood with Arthur as he outlined what they had to do next. About them the warriors of the southern tribes and the Uathach hurriedly ate quick meals and stowed away the last of the supplies. The word was spread that the horses were to be taken to the bridge over the Isis to the West of the Winter Wood and corralled there. They would fight in the woods on foot. The warriors quickly redistributed the supplies and war gear and the horses were led away in a long line between the last of the wains that headed off to skirt the southern edges of the woodland.

  Most of the warriors had expected to have to enter the Winter Wood and few were now unduly concerned about doing so. Many of them had already met or seen the Cithol and those who had not had questioned Ceinwen and the others until their fears had been allayed.

  Arthur thought that the Adren would attempt to penetrate the woods at dozens of different points. Once they had entered the woods proper the paths narrowed and most of them led nowhere near to the hidden entrances of the Veiled City. He decided to split his force into four bands so that they could cover most of the eastern sweep of the woodland. Vosper’s Cithol would act as their guides and as runners between the different groups so that they could keep each other informed of the Adren’s movement and co-ordinate their counter attacks.

  They left the hill when Morveren brought word that the Adren had turned aside from the Westway and were making for the Winter Wood. No sooner had the warriors entered the wood than Vosper and his fifty Cithol met them. Arthur explained to him what their basic plan was and Vosper assigned various members of his band to the four groups of warriors. Gwyna had divided the Uathach into two separate groups; she would lead one and Ruraidh the other. Gereint led the Mercian band and Arthur the survivors of the combined Wessex and Anglian war bands with Hengest as his second-in-command.

  The two Uathach bands headed northwards led by their Cithol guides while Gereint’s warriors filed away to take up positions between the Uathach and Arthur’s band. Within two hours the four groups were spread across ten miles covering the eastern side of the Winter Wood.

  Vosper suggested that Arthur’s band stay where it was for the time being while he and two companions ventured to the edge of the woodland in an effort to gauge where the Adren would make their first attempt. Once Vosper had gone the remaining Cithol retired some distance away and the warriors began to relax in the cool shade of the trees. The temperature had steadily risen since the aching cold of the fog on the Causeway and the spring sun was now warm enough for the warriors to be thankful to be in the cool forest and they spread out amongst the earth banks and moss-covered, half-buried ruins of a previous age.

  Someone started a small fire to cook some meat and soon a thin haze of smoke drifted through the trees picking out the sunlight in gently swirling shafts. The Cithol watched the Britons curiously as some of the warriors began eating the half-cooked meat while others took the opportunity to sleep. Most of the warriors sat around in small groups and talked quietly. Arthur passed amongst them checking on individual supplies of arrows. He eventually joined Ceinwen and Balor who were sitting with the two Anglians, Hengest and Elwyn.

  Hengest looked up as Arthur sat down holding his stiff leg out before him.

  ‘The calm before the storm, eh?’ Hengest said.

  ‘The calm between storms you mean,’ Balor corrected him.

  ‘Is it still troubling you?’ Ceinwen asked Arthur nodding to his leg.

  Arthur dismissed the question with a wave of his hand.

  ‘The arrow wound from Branque?’ Hengest asked.

  Arthur nodded his reply and Hengest fell silent as he recalled the village across the Causeway. He remembered a red headed girl there whom he had met once when he and Cei had escorted the villagers to Caer Sulis. Or perhaps it was escorting them from Caer Sulis back to Branque, he honestly could not remember, but he was sure her name had been Caja. He had heard that she had died during the attack and the thought still sickened him. Quite a few of the Anglian warriors had shown an interest in the lively girl but he seemed to recall that she had taken a shine to Cei and his thoughts inevitably turned to Cei and his father who were somewhere deep in the Shadow Lands. ‘Do you think Cei and the others will succeed?’ he asked Arthur.

  ‘They have to. It’s the only way to stop the Adren in the end.’

  ‘Your father’s with him, isn’t he?’ Elwyn asked suddenly remembering that Aelfhelm had been one of those to leave with Cei.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well then, the old warhorse will keep Cei on the right path,’ Elwyn said with a laugh.

  ‘You ought to watch who you’re calling an old warhorse,’ Ceinwen said with an unsubtle glance at Balor and Arthur.

  Balor began to bridle at the comment but was cut short when Arthur suddenly asked, ‘Where are Morgund and Morveren?’

  The question was met by silence and as he looked at them they all looked away either taking an interest in something near at hand or appearing to be lost in their own thoughts.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I think they went for a walk, possibly,’ Ceinwen answered in the embarrassed silence. Everyone was acutely aware of the rumour that suggested Morveren was his daughter and to make matters worse Elwyn had made his intentions towards her fairly clear over the winter months.

  ‘A walk?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘Together?’

  ‘Well they left together,’ Ceinwen said, hopefully implying that it was more than likely that they had soon split up and gone their separate ways.

  ‘Bring them back. Vosper will return soon and I don’t want to have to search for them,’ Arthur said standing up.

  ‘I’m not really sure which way they went,’ Ceinwen said, also standing to show she was keen to help despite obviously being unable to.

  ‘You’re a tracker aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then track them,’ Arthur said and strode away.

  Ceinwen shrugged to the others and set off reluctantly through the trees. She found them soon after but could not face intruding upon them and so she sat behind a tree to wait, mortified and wishing she were anywhere else.

  Vosper returned before Ceinwen did but he had little to report other than that the Adren were setting up a main base just on the southwest fringes of the Winter Wood.

  Over the following days the Adren busied themselves with the various necessities of setting up a camp for so many soldiers. Arthur took patrols close to the Adren pickets but like the others he had to content himself with waiting for the enemy to make the first move. During this time the Britons familiarised themselves with the paths through the woodland and sought out the best ambush points and then enhanced them.

  Balor became increasingly irritable at finding himself once more in the woodland surroundings he had hoped to leave behind but the others welcomed the brief respite from the fighting and took the opportunity to eat and sleep as much as they could, knowing that once the battle started again they would have little time for either.

  The Britons were surprised that the Winter Wood was so peaceful considering that there was an Adren army camped only a few miles away. The daunting winter darkness of the forest had been banished for a few months and the spring sun shone warmly on the sprouting leaves and cast dappled shadows on the new grass and saplings that grew in the few open spaces. The glades were hazed by bluebells and when the gentle breeze from the West breathed across these glades it seemed as if an indigo mist eddied across the woodland floor.

  Morveren was reflecting upon the same strange contradiction as she lay in a patch of sunlight and listened to a wood pigeon softly calling from a nearby tree. Next to her lay
Morgund and he twitched in his sleep as a fly landed on his face then instantly flew off. Morveren smiled and was trailing a strand of her long black hair across his face in an attempt to elicit the same response when she heard someone crashing through the undergrowth not far away.

  She shoved Morgund awake and sprang to her feet quickly throwing some clothes around herself and reaching for her sword. Morgund was still half-asleep and struggling into his clothes when Ceinwen burst into the clearing. Ceinwen took one look at their dishevelled state and wished that she wasn’t the one to have to keep track of the two of them. ‘Get dressed the pair of you. The Adren are moving into the woods! Get back to the camp and for the gods’ sake, make sure you arrive from different directions!’

  They need not have worried about being noticed when they returned as the camp was a scene of frenzied activity with shelters being dismantled and war gear hurriedly collected. Arthur was still conferring with Vosper and two other Cithol who had arrived from the Uathach bands to the North but word had already spread that the Adren were probing the western fringes at eight different points and each force contained at least a thousand soldiers.

  Morgund made straight for his longbow and set about re-stringing it; dozens around him were doing likewise. When he had finished he helped Morveren string her shorter bow. Arthur was shouting orders for everyone to form up and moments later they were running along a path that narrowed as the trees grew thicker to either side.

  Vosper led them at a quickening pace and at the back of the line were more of the Cithol, stationed there to make sure no one at the rear mistook the path. They were moving northwards and the patches of sunlit ground lessened as the canopy above them became thicker. The woods around them were getting darker as the path descended into a sunken lane with steep banks covered by gorse and tangled bushes sloping upwards on either side to a narrow skyline that was mostly obscured by the overreaching branches.

  Morgund was close to the front of the line and running behind the shorter Balor who was already finding the going hard. Suddenly they ran out into an open space and those ahead of him faltered. Behind him the other warriors from Wessex and Anglia spilled into the clearing.

  Arthur was roaring out one word but Morgund’s mind struggled to understand it; surely they were not prepared to launch an ambush yet? He looked around for the Cithol who had been leading them but they were nowhere to be seen and as he looked back to find those who had been bringing up the rear the first flight of arrows tore through the Britons. He struggled to release the shield on his back as the second flight flew at them from the opposite direction. He abandoned his efforts to release the shield and fought down the panic as he frantically looked for Arthur. He could not see him but he heard his voice raised above the chaos.

  ‘To me! To me! Charge! Charge!’

  Some of the warriors around him were sprinting to his left and he followed automatically as another volley of arrows decimated their ranks. He could see Arthur now. He was leading the charge to one side of the clearing. He was doing the only thing possible; attacking one of the flanks of the ambush that had caught them.

  Morgund took his bow in his left hand and drew his sword as an arrow clattered into the shield strapped to his back. He was flung forward and as he scrambled in the dirt he felt another arrow scythe through the air above his head. He swore and felt a hand grip him under the armpit helping him to his feet.

  ‘Bloody daft time to duck,’ he heard Balor say as they sprinted onwards. Then they were in the tree line and fighting erupted all around them. He jabbed his bow into the face of an Adren and swung out at another.

  Arthur was still roaring them onwards. To be trapped here with the other side of the ambush now racing across the clearing after them would be just as fatal as staying in the centre. Balor despatched the Adren Morgund had swung at and missed, and together they ran forward deflecting and parrying blows rather than stopping to fight.

  The woods were thick but passable and they sprinted between trees and hurdled fallen boughs as arrows flew around them and cracked into nearby trunks. All about them other Britons were trying to fight their way out of the trap and gradually they drew together in loose bands as their embedded training took hold once more.

  Morgund hoped their headlong flight was taking them westwards towards the city and not east to the main Adren army. He caught a glimpse of the sun above them and quietly thanked Arthur for choosing the right direction. Just when he thought they were free of the Adren line they crashed straight into a group running in the opposite direction. They were embroiled in a frenzied skirmish for a precious few minutes and by the time they had killed the last one they could hear the sounds of their pursuit dangerously close again.

  There was nothing to be gained by pacing themselves; if they could not lose their pursuers in the next minute or two then they would be overhauled and cut down. They sprinted as fast as they could and with complete disregard for the roots and vines that waited to send them sprawling but the pursuit was dogged and did not fall far behind.

  Suddenly there was the shattering clash of battle behind them and Morgund risked a glance over his shoulder. He drew up and shouted after Balor who slowed and turned around. Behind them a band of forty Britons had lain in wait as they passed and then sprang at their pursuers. The fighting was sudden, brief and vicious and when the last Adren was cut down Arthur ran across to them.

  ‘Are there any others who got out?’

  ‘Don’t know. Didn’t see,’ Balor replied, taking great gulps of air.

  ‘Morveren? Is she with you?’ Morgund asked Arthur. Arthur shook his head and Morgund groaned.

  ‘What happened back there?’ Balor asked still wiping the sweat that poured down his face.

  ‘The Cithol,’ Arthur said and it suddenly dawned on Balor that the Cithol had betrayed them and led them into the Adren trap. He began to swear unholy retribution. Arthur did not say a word but those around him could feel his cold fury.

  Hengest came running up and called out, ‘There’s more of us this way!’

  The warriors set off again with Balor and Morgund lagging after them. They rounded up eleven more survivors from the ambush then had to hide themselves in a tumble of overgrown and concealed ruins while a large contingent of Adren swept through the area.

  They drank what little water they had while they waited for the Adren to move further away. Morgund went among the group to see who had gotten out and to ask if anyone had seen Morveren. He was relieved to see that Ceinwen and Hengest were among those sheltering in the ruins but no one had seen Morveren since before the chaos of the ambush. Balor pointed out that no one had seen her fall either but Morgund was dwelling on the thought that perhaps she had been taken alive.

  Ceinwen and Hengest cautiously approached Arthur, ‘The other bands might have been led into an ambush as well,’ Ceinwen tentatively pointed out.

  ‘Should we try and get word to them?’ Hengest added.

  ‘We don’t know the woods to the North of us. We don’t know where they are and we’re more likely to run into more Adren than we are to find the others. They’ll get out as best they can and head for the base where our horses are. Then they’ll make for Caer Cadarn.’

  ‘Is that where we’re heading?’ Ceinwen asked warily, already knowing the answer.

  ‘No.’

  Hengest looked puzzled but before he could ask, Ceinwen quietly answered his question, ‘We’re going into the Veiled City.’

  ‘But...’ Hengest stopped as Arthur looked at him.

  ‘Do you know where the entrances are?’ Ceinwen asked.

  ‘I know where one is. The Winter Garden.’

  Ceinwen suddenly remembered the sculpted ice and frozen fountains of the wall-enclosed garden and she remembered the Cithol girl who had welcomed them there, Fin Seren, and knew that she was one of the reasons why Arthur must enter the Veiled City.

  ‘Arthur, the woods are crawling with Adren and if the Cithol are against us then the city wi
ll be no better. Can we not return to the Veiled City at a later time?’ Ceinwen said in a final appeal even though she knew it was pointless.

  ‘No. We go there now.’

  He told her to prepare the others to leave. They left the overgrown ruins in bands of four or five and followed each other as Arthur led them westwards and deeper into the Winter Wood which was eerily quiet after the running battles and clamouring pursuit. It seemed as if the woods had been shocked into silence and were now waiting in wary tension to see what would happen next.

  They moved through the thicker parts of the wood as quickly as possible and through the more open stretches with as much caution as possible, all the time following Arthur as he picked his way from path to path. After an hour of silent progress and as they crouched and waited while Arthur and Ceinwen ranged ahead to find the right direction they heard the distant and unmistakable clash of weapons. Morgund swore he heard Uathach battle cries but no one else was willing or able to confirm his assertion.

  When the sound of battle died away a lone crow broke the silence around them as it strutted on a branch overhead noisily trying to betray their position. Morgund unslung his longbow and fired an arrow at it. The crow gave a last outraged screech as it spied its attacker then disappeared in a swirl of black feathers as the arrow tore through it.

  ‘It’s bad luck to do that,’ Balor pointed out to him.

  ‘It is for the crow,’ Morgund answered.

  Balor grunted in agreement.

  ‘Are you sure they were Uathach battle cries?’

  Morgund shrugged, ‘I thought so but it was a long way away.’

  ‘What a bloody mess,’ Balor said. He spoke it quietly but with real anger.

  Morgund nodded his agreement. Through the trees he could see Arthur and Ceinwen returning and he was glad to be moving again. He was desperately trying not to think of Morveren and it was easier to do so if he had to concentrate on moving quietly and quickly through the woods.

  It took Arthur over six hours to lead them to the high walls of the Winter Garden. Only once did they come across a band of Adren, several hundred strong, and they quickly melted from the path and lay in concealment until the enemy had moved on. The only entrance to the Garden was through a stone gateway carved into one of the high walls and the remnants of the Wessex and Anglian war bands waited in the undergrowth while Ceinwen crept forward to investigate. Everyone suspected another trap and they freed their bows and fitted arrows to the strings. The only sound was the low roar of the westerly wind as it passed through the tall trees that surrounded and encroached upon the towering walls of the Winter Garden; it sounded like a distant sea crashing its surf on some far beach and had an oddly calming effect on their taut nerves.