Shadow Lands Trilogy

by Simon Lister

  He tore his eyes away from the triumphant feasting and stared at his blood-caked hands; hands that were scarred by a lifetime of fighting the capricious nature of the western seas. He was unable to stop them from shaking. He was also unable to stop the silent tears that dropped from his face and fell onto his hands bringing the dried blood back to life. First it had been the fear, then the fatigue and now it was the shock; he was exhausted and sickened by all he had experienced and underneath these raw feelings there lurked the inescapable sense of relief that he had survived and that sickened him further. He thought of little Kea, his brother’s daughter, and bowed his head and cried.

  *

  In the aftermath of the battle Arthur had gathered together the surviving leaders of the war band. The warriors that had lived through the battle congregated nearby, their jubilation at having defeated the Adren tempered by their own losses.

  Arthur looked around at those surrounding him, some standing and some squatting down, and immediately put their victory into perspective, ‘That’s half the battle won.’

  Everyone knew that neither battle had gone entirely to plan but equally they also knew that they had defeated an army nearly three times their size.

  ‘The second half will be harder.’

  Had there been only one Adren army loose in Britain then it wouldn’t have ultimately mattered how slim this victory was - it still would have meant a complete victory. As it was they now had only a few hundred left with which to face the Adren who were currently somewhere in the North.

  ‘Mar’h?’ Arthur addressed the question to Elwyn who just shook his head.

  ‘Who held the square together on the river side?’ Arthur asked, scanning the weary faces before him.

  Again it was Elwyn who replied, ‘I think it was Unna, the harbour master.’

  ‘Did she survive?’

  Elwyn looked towards the small group assembling by the river, all that was left of Mar’h’s legion, and shrugged.

  Arthur turned to Morgund, ‘How many of your mounted cohort are left?’

  ‘Thirty, perhaps forty.’ Between the two battles he had lost nine tenths of his command and most of those had perished in the final two hours of the fighting.

  ‘And your archers?’ Arthur asked returning his attention to Elwyn.

  ‘Less than fifty probably. Haven’t done a head count yet.’ Something in Elwyn’s tone betrayed his anger at the questions and Arthur stared at him until he looked away.

  ‘Get your mounted cohort together and saddle the freshest horses,’ Arthur said directly to Morgund.

  ‘Now?’ Morgund asked trying to keep the surprise from his voice.

  ‘Yes. Now. They’re riding with us to the Causeway. I want those Adren dead too before we turn to the West.’

  Morgund nodded and left to round up what remained of his exhausted cohort. Arthur turned his attention back to Elwyn. ‘You’ll stay here. Organise the legion to collect our wounded. Find Henna and see to them as best as you can. She will have to decide who we take back on the wains and who we leave here...’

  ‘Henna’s dead,’ Elwyn interrupted him.

  ‘Then find someone else to tend to the wounded. Or do it yourself.’

  Again they stared at each other and again Elwyn broke away to look at the ground. Arthur continued, ‘Bring the carts up and load them with the Adren supplies. Kill the Adren wounded and burn our dead. Once you’ve done that then send the wounded and the surplus supplies back to Whitehorse Hill and then make for the Causeway with every able person still here.’

  Elwyn trudged away and Arthur watched him in silence. Hengest cleared his throat and gestured to Gereint and Gwyna as he said, ‘Shall we get the war band ready to ride?’

  Arthur took his eyes away from the departing Elwyn, ‘Yes. Collect the longbows and arrows. Get the horses watered and make sure everyone takes enough provisions for a few days. As soon as Morgund’s ready we’ll ride to the Causeway. Hengest, collect or fashion as many digging tools as you can then bring them with us.’

  Arthur turned away from them and strode off to the riverside where the legion’s survivors were gathering. He walked among them and stopped to talk with each small group of legionnaires praising them for their victory and listening to their accounts of the battle. As he made his way along the riverbank he recognised Sal sitting by the water’s edge. He called out to him and Sal looked around and lumbered to his feet as Arthur approached.

  ‘Your brothers?’

  ‘They’re dead. Both dead.’ Sal looked surprised by his own words, as if an unspoken fear had been made real by voicing it.

  ‘Then Garwin and Keir died to protect Kea and all the others like her back at the Haven. There’s no better reason to have to fight. There’s no better cause to have to die for. It’s the only reason, the only cause, the only justification for today. Together you’ve kept those at the Haven safe for that bit longer. Your brothers have played their part and now it’s up to you to carry it on.’

  Sal nodded at Arthur’s words but he had been so surprised by Arthur remembering their names that he had hardly heard any of what followed.

  ‘Do you know if Unna survived?’

  ‘No, she died too.’

  ‘Sal, I need to talk to you about Merdynn. I want you to remember everything you can about what he said to you. I need to know if he talked about the battle against the Adren at the fortress, about what happened on the sea crossing and if he said anymore concerning Ethain.’

  ‘I don’t remember much of anything right now.’

  Arthur rested a hand on his shoulder, ‘Try to remember. You’ll be joining us at the Causeway in a few days and I’ll speak to you then.’

  Arthur returned to the mustering war band and Sal made his way across to where Elwyn was organising the legion. But he wouldn’t be speaking to Arthur at the Causeway; Sal died an hour later, killed by a wounded Adren.

  *

  Hengest rode at the front of the column that was making its way along the Westway at walking pace. The hundred odd riders were stretched out in a line that covered almost a mile with Morgund’s cohort bringing up the rear. The horses were as tired as the warriors and as quickly as Arthur wanted the destruction of the small Adren camp on the cliffs above the Causeway he had left orders not to push on too hard. Morgund’s cohort had lost almost as many horses as it had riders during the second battle when they had been enmeshed in the heart of the fighting but enough of the riderless horses from the charges of the first battle had been rounded up to make sure each of the warriors had a mount. Arthur had ridden ahead with a small patrol to reconnoitre the Adren camp.

  Hengest looked around at the surviving members of the Anglian war band that rode with him. Less than fifteen were left. He looked further back down the line to where the Wessex warriors were; they seemed to number about the same. He would have given anything to have Cei back leading the Anglians, and to have his father, Aelfhelm riding by his side. He thought of the others who had gone east never to return; the experienced Herewulf, Cerdic whom many had thought would lead the war band after Cei, Leah and Roswitha both good warriors, stubborn Leofrun, reliable Cuthwin – so many gone, so many warriors they desperately needed now. He was so lost in his thoughts that he did not notice that Aylydd had brought her horse alongside his until she spoke to him, ‘Did Saewulf get away from the bridge?’

  Hengest looked at the reins in his hands for a moment before replying thinking that there was another warrior who was lost, ‘I haven’t seen him. If he got away he’d have swum to the bank and probably joined in the fighting. I’m sorry Aylydd but I don’t think he can still be alive.’

  She turned in her saddle and asked the same question to the other Anglian warriors. Some shrugged and others averted their eyes. No one had seen him since he had steered the fire boats into the bridge.

  Lissa was the only one to reply to her question, ‘He must have died at the bridge and if I ever get another beer before me he’ll be the first one I drink
to, without him we’d never have divided the Adren and we’d have lost.’

  Those around him voiced their agreement.

  ‘If it hadn’t been for Arthur’s plan we’d never have won the day,’ Hengest added.

  ‘If it hadn’t been for the plan then Saewulf might still have been alive,’ someone replied.

  ‘Saewulf knew what he was doing, he wanted the job of firing the bridge,’ another voice answered.

  ‘I heard that Mar’h died,’ Aylydd said dropping back to Lissa and leaving the others to their weary discussion. Lissa had sailed to the West with Mar’h during the previous winter and they had formed a firm friendship during the journey.

  ‘Yes. Elwyn was saying he went down when the Adren drove their spearhead into the centre of his shield wall. He was a good man.’

  *

  ‘He was a bastard. He got what was coming to him.’ Ruraidh spat over his horse’s neck to emphasise the point; he and Gwyna were also talking of Mar’h’s death.

  ‘He led the legion well,’ Gwyna replied and turned her face away from her companion so that he could not see that she was merely antagonising him.

  ‘Led the legion well? He raped your mother during some cursed Wessex raid! I’d have thought you of all people would be dancing on his dead body.’

  Gwyna took the smile from her face and turned once more to him, ‘I liked him. You did too before Esa made her claims – besides my father decided she must have been mistaken.’

  ‘Well the bastard’s dead now, pity the Adren got the pleasure.’

  Gwyna tired of her game and tugged at the neck of her leather battle tunic in an attempt to loosen it and relieve the uncomfortable chaffing it was causing. The sun had already passed its zenith and begun its long slide into the East but it had not yet lost any of its strength and the scorched land lay suffocating in the oppressive heat.

  The thirty Uathach warriors were riding in the middle of the strung-out column with Gereint’s Mercians bringing up the rear some way back. Gwyna did a quick tally of the surviving warriors and came up with about a hundred.

  ‘Bastard or not we could have done without him or his legion dying,’ Gwyna said. She gave up on her efforts to loosen her collar and instead untied the fastenings running down the side of the tunic and took it off altogether. She breathed deeply and sighed with relief as the constraining tightness around her chest was released. Ruraidh watched as she plucked at the linen undershirt that was plastered to her skin with sweat.

  ‘My husband may not approve of your obvious attention,’ she said without looking at him.

  ‘Ah, but I know that you do,’ Ruraidh replied and they both laughed.

  ‘Where is the madman?’ Ruraidh asked finally looking away from her.

  ‘Madman?’

  ‘He’s a bloody lunatic. Did you see him by the bridge?’

  ‘He probably killed more Adren there than we managed together all day.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it. I wasn’t sure who his fury was more aimed at – the Adren, or us for coming back for him,’ Ruraidh said, then added grudgingly, ‘I’ll give him one thing though, he planned the two battles well and won them both against greater numbers.’

  ‘It’s little wonder we had no success against the Wessex bastards.’

  ‘Has he gone on ahead?’ Ruraidh repeated his question.

  ‘Yes, to scout the Adren camp above the Causeway,’ Gwyna replied between taking thirsty mouthfuls of water from her canteen. She passed it across to Ruraidh who did likewise.

  ‘If there’s only a hundred or so there then it’ll be short work,’ he said, handing back the empty canteen.

  ‘And that just leaves Lazure’s ten thousand sacking the North.’

  ‘Do you think Benoc and Hund will stand against him?’

  ‘Yes and they’ll be slaughtered but with any luck they’ll dent his force.’

  ‘And what about our people?’ Ruraidh asked, angry that she should be so casual about her own peoples’ destruction.

  ‘They aren’t our people, they’re Hund’s and Benoc’s. Anyone who counts to us is already at the Haven. The others had their chance and more fool them for staying.’

  ‘We’ll be next. I don’t see how even Arthur can win with a few hundred against Lazure’s army.’

  ‘He can’t, not now.’

  ‘So that’s how your glorious plans end – dying in some doomed battle or hiding in some deserted village?’

  Gwyna looked coldly at him before replying, ‘I don’t plan to die and I don’t intend abandoning any of my plans.’

  ‘How can you have any share in the rule of this land when there’ll be nothing and no one left to rule?’

  ‘Because, you fool, I don’t intend to stay in this land.’

  Chapter Eight

  The huddled figure gradually stood up using the two walls of the corner as support and stepped out from the shadows. Ceinwen stared in disbelief and Morveren took an involuntary step backwards.

  ‘You wouldn’t happen to have anything more interesting to eat than wild berries by any chance? Some cheese perhaps?’

  ‘Gods,’ Ceinwen muttered under her breath.

  ‘Flattered, but no.’

  ‘But, you’re dead...’ Morveren said still in shock.

  ‘Less flattered but again, no. I could eat some cheese if you want proof of that. Don’t have any do you?’

  ‘How did you...?’ Morveren stuttered.

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Well.’ Merdynn smiled at them both, delighted by their ashen faces and shocked expressions.

  ‘Clearly none of us are at our best so why don’t you fetch whatever food you have in your saddle-bags, Morveren, while Ceinwen here clears a table and finds some chairs then we can put our thoughts and questions into some semblance of order. And eat. We could even eat first.’

  Morveren laughed aloud and stopping at the doorway to look back and make sure her eyes had not deceived her she went to fetch the requested food.

  ‘She hasn’t laughed for a while has she?’ Merdynn asked.

  Ceinwen went to embrace him but he looked so frail and thin that she took his hands in hers instead. ‘I don’t know how you’re still alive, or how you’re here but this is the best thing that’s happened since I first set eyes on the bloody Adren. Wait until Arthur sees you!’

  ‘Fetch the chairs, Ceinwen, and make some room on that table.’

  Ceinwen’s smile was checked by Merdynn’s quiet response and as she prepared the table some of the happiness that had swept over her began to ebb away.

  Morveren entered the hut almost dancing despite the saddlebags over each shoulder and the flask of water and a skin of wine under each arm. She ignored the chairs and knelt by the table as she pulled various foods from the bags and piled them in front of Merdynn. With a final flourish she produced a small square of cheese and placed it before him. He took it almost reverentially in both hands and raised it to his nose.

  ‘It’s a bit old, it’s gone a bit crumbly with the salt,’ Morveren said apologetically.

  ‘It’s a blessed delight and possibly the single best reason to live forever.’

  Morveren grinned at him in relief and poured three cups of wine. Merdynn diluted his with water and held up a hand for them both to be silent as he alternatively took nibbles of cheese then sips of wine.

  ‘Talking of living forever...?’ Ceinwen asked tentatively when the cheese had eventually disappeared.

  ‘Figure of speech,’ Merdynn said quickly and concentrated on slicing an apple into pieces with a small knife.

  ‘My brothers left you on the Breton coast. They said you must have died there from your wounds,’ Morveren prompted, watching the old man’s crooked fingers as he cut up the apple.

  ‘Redoubtable fellows but obviously mistaken.’

  Ceinwen leaned forward, ‘What happened Merdynn?’

  Merdynn sighed and sat back in his chair leaving the apple cuts on the table. ‘I died. A
t least I thought I died. I wanted to die. I was weary, soul-weary. It’s been so many years, so many seasons, so many generations have come and gone and I’ve watched them all from birth to death, and I wanted to join them finally. I wanted peace but I was sent back. It was not my time to rest, not yet. The task is never finished. It’s endless, cycle after cycle, and someone has to stand through it always guiding, protecting, fashioning. Time is terrible, ruthless and relentless, and nothing can weigh heavier on a soul. I yearned for rest but I was denied it. The burden continues.’

  ‘Then you’ve returned to help us defeat the Adren?’ Ceinwen asked, unsure what he meant by his talk of tasks and burdens.

  ‘No. It has never been my role to stand directly against the enemy. Others have had that role in the past but they’re gone, long gone. No, it’s my responsibility to guide and counsel those who would stand in the storm – to prepare them for their part in the endless cycle.’

  ‘You’re talking of Arthur, but he still needs you.’

  ‘I can teach him nothing now. He no longer needs any guidance – if he ever did. No he doesn’t need me any longer. He’ll need you though, both of you. You must trust him absolutely if anything of Britain is to survive.’

  ‘Then our survival is possible?’ Morveren asked remembering Ceinwen’s words to the contrary.

  ‘So much still hangs in the balance. The enemy is still greater in number and stronger too. Lazure is more powerful than any who might stand against him and yet he is merely a lieutenant of the one who sent him.’

  ‘Then how can we survive?’ Morveren asked in despair.

  ‘Arthur.’

  ‘Is there nothing you can do to help him?’ Ceinwen pleaded.

  ‘I shall help, though perhaps not directly. I have to look now to the next cycle.’

  In the silence that followed Merdynn resumed his interest in the food and began eating the apple pieces one by one as he watched the faces of the two women. They both reached for their wine cups and drank without realising they were a mirror image of each other. Merdynn smiled and raised his own cup to them both, ‘Thirsty work, eh?’