Shadow Lands Trilogy

by Simon Lister

  ‘I know but I still don’t understand why – Merdynn still being alive would be good news for everyone.’

  ‘And then they would ask where he is and why he isn’t with us now that we need him the most.’

  ‘Well, we do need him and they are good questions,’ Morveren pointed out.

  ‘He has his own reasons but the warriors would see it as a bad sign. They would feel he’s abandoned them and Arthur.’

  ‘So we say nothing?’

  ‘That’s right. Apart from reporting it all to Arthur. To everyone else we say nothing about Merdynn, nothing about what he said of Ethain, nothing about Cei and nothing about the other things we talked of,’ Ceinwen said, alluding to the more personal matters they had voiced.

  Morveren readily nodded her agreement and took a deep breath before saying, ‘Let’s go and see if the war band’s at home then.’

  But it would be another month before the war band returned to Caer Cadarn. The wounded from the two battles on the Isis started to arrive in the first few days of their return to Whitehorse Hill and Ceinwen spent endless hours overseeing their treatment. Despite her tireless efforts and skill she was unable to save over half of those who returned laden on the back of the legion’s carts and wains.

  Ethain spent the majority of his time secluded in one of the huts where he spent long hours listening to Morveren as she related all that had happened in his absence, but the only times he talked about his own tale was when he paced across the dusty floor talking to himself.

  News of the great victory was sent on to the Haven but any sense of renewed hope the Britons might have felt was negated by the legion’s appalling losses; only one in ten had survived the battles against the Adren and when the rumours spread through the crowded town of the Adren army loose in the North then what little hope that remained turned to a sense of impending doom. They had thrown all they had at the Adren in the East and although they had won the battles against the more numerous enemy they now had nothing left with which to face the army in the North.

  The councils of the three tribes argued what the best course of action was but knowing that they could neither surrender nor fight they eventually settled on the only option open to them; to wait for the return of the warlord and what remained of his war band.

  *

  Arthur stood with his captains on the flats below the white cliffs and surveyed the work that had taken four weeks to complete. Aelfric passed amongst them with a flagon of water and some dried bread.

  Just over a mile of the Causeway had been completely levelled and great ramparts of earth now edged the flats. The last half mile of the tunnel that the Adren had used to get behind the Britons had been collapsed where possible and filled with the excavated earth of the Causeway where necessary. The marshes were at their lowest ebb and had yet to reclaim the scarred line where the Causeway had stood but the autumn rains would soon swell the waters and Britain’s link to the rest of Middangeard would be severed.

  Under the searing sun and plagued by insects it had been miserable and exhausting work for those digging and carting the earth and rocks away. They had worked in long shifts with the minimum of time to rest and eat but everyone had done their share and complaints had been few. With the task now completed everyone was taking an extended rest before starting the journey back to Caer Cadarn.

  ‘At least we made the bastards pay dearly for crossing it.’

  Arthur took his eyes away from the marshland and glanced at Balor who had spoken.

  ‘And ever since. The Veiled City, the twin battles on the Isis,’ Morgund added.

  ‘We’ve paid our own price too,’ Hengest said, quietly thinking of his father, Aelfhelm, lost in the Shadow Lands with Cei. They all thought of those close to them who had been lost since the war began.

  ‘We won’t be able to trade now with the other tribes on the far coast,’ Aelfric said as he stood by Arthur and passed him the flagon.

  ‘There are no other tribes now and what few survivors there might be won’t be trading for many years,’ Arthur replied without looking at the youngster.

  ‘Haven’t we locked the door after the thief’s entered?’ Aelfric asked, nodding at the levelled Causeway.

  The warriors stared at him and Hengest readied himself to drag Aelfric clear of Arthur’s blow but to their surprise Arthur turned and silently studied the fair-haired boy.

  ‘That’s exactly what we’ve done. And now the thief can’t leave,’ Arthur finally said still staring at the boy.

  ‘Then we have one more battle to fight and victory lies in the West,’ Aelfric answered, levelly returning Arthur’s stare.

  Hengest cringed expecting the youngster’s insolence to be violently punished but again the response surprised him.

  ‘Yes, we have one more battle to fight but no, victory can only lie in the East.’

  ‘Then we go east?’

  ‘No, my battle lies in the West with Lazure. Victory in the East will be sought by he who picks up Cei’s sword,’ Arthur answered and handed back the flagon of water.

  Aelfric nodded as he took the flagon then turned and left. The warriors exchanged puzzled looks.

  ‘Prepare everyone for the journey back to Caer Cadarn. We leave within the hour,’ Arthur said then added to Elwyn, ‘Send Sal to me.’

  Elwyn stared at him blankly and Morgund hastily explained Sal was one of three brothers who were with the legion. When he still looked blank Morgund added they were Morveren’s brothers.

  Recognition dawned on Elwyn’s face, ‘He died. A dying Adren speared him as he sought amongst the bodies for our wounded. Bled to death, there was nothing anyone could do.’

  Arthur turned away without a word and faced the marshes again as if he were reluctant to leave the Causeway behind him.

  ‘That Anglian lad deserves a good hiding,’ Balor said to the others as they drifted back towards the makeshift camp. He was annoyed that he had not understood the exchange between Arthur and the boy.

  ‘He’s got guts, I’ll say that him,’ Dystran, the tattooed Mercian replied.

  ‘If he doesn’t watch it he’ll be strung up by them,’ Gereint muttered, wondering how Arthur would have reacted if any of them had spoken to him like that.

  Gwyna kept her silence and thoughtfully watched the boy’s back as he strode ahead of them towards the resting legion. Morgund lagged behind already dreading the prospect of telling Morveren that her three brothers and Mar’h were all dead.

  *

  Ethain was the first to see the war band approaching Caer Cadarn. Morveren had finally persuaded him to leave his darkened refuge and take her horse out to give it a run. Ethain had eventually acquiesced knowing full well that her real reason had more to do with getting him to leave his self-imposed prison.

  Over the last few weeks and despite his best efforts he had been unable to avoid speaking to most of the elders and recuperating warriors who were at Whitehorse Hill. They had all wanted to hear his tale of the Shadow Lands but so far he had managed to deflect their inquisitiveness and they seemed to respect his reticence; certainly no one appeared to hold him responsible for what had happened. This surprised him at first but in one of his darkened monologues he explained to himself that no one knew anything of what had happened, he was the only survivor and his was the only tale. The only truth was his.

  Despite this realisation he still avoided contact with any of the others at the camp whenever it was possible and when he was cornered he kept his stories vague and understated, always searching his listeners’ eyes for any signs of disbelief or any indication that they could sense his guilt. They treated him much like Morveren did; careful to respect the horrors he must have faced and unwilling to force him to confront the tragedy that had clearly unsettled his mind.

  Gradually his guilt diminished and his lonely bitter arguments became more one-sided. Behind his downcast eyes and subdued tone Ethain started to laugh at those around him for being so gullible and he began to congratula
te himself on his cleverness at escaping the Breton fortress and fooling those at Whitehorse Hill; all of them except Ceinwen whom he suspected did not believe his tales.

  His confidence had grown to the point where he felt it was now time to move his prolonged and feigned recovery on to the next stage and so he had taken the reins from Morveren’s hand and ridden her horse out onto the Ridgeway. It was time to rejoin the living.

  Once clear of the camp he let his mask of composed sadness slip away and turned the horse to face the growing breeze from the West. He smiled contentedly as the soft wind rippled across the hillside and ruffled his scraggy beard. Perhaps he was not as brave as Cerdic or as stout-hearted as Cei but then, he reasoned, they would never again have even the simple pleasure of feeling the wind on their faces; he would.

  On the distant horizon he could see the ranks of billowed clouds reaching high into the sky. He turned his borrowed horse and set out at a gentle pace with the declining sun warming his face. It was then that he saw the line of carts and horses in the distance.

  He knew immediately it was the returning war band and he stopped and stared at the far line. His easy confidence shredded about him and without realising it his hands had once more begun to twist together, his nails raking each palm in turn.

  His eyes flicked to the South and he briefly contemplated digging in his heels and fleeing back to the coast. His mind raced as he weighed the possibilities of surviving in the deserted villages of Wessex. He was tempted and had even turned the horse that way before he realised that fleeing would only undo all that he had already achieved in being accepted back at Caer Cadarn. He told himself that no one there yet doubted his vague version of events on the Breton Coast so why should anyone in the war band think differently? No one except Ceinwen, a small voice inside his head reminded him. He felt the familiar surge of panic welling up inside and fought to quell it.

  He knew that riding south was not a good option; Ceinwen would only be sent to find him again - if he had not already starved – or the Adren would eventually catch him once they had defeated the Britons. No, he reasoned aloud to himself, the safest place for the time being was with the war band and when they were defeated he would flee along with the other survivors and take his chances then. And what about Arthur? His eyes strayed to the South again as he reminded himself about having to face the warlord. Surely he could fool the returning warriors just as he had those at Caer Cadarn? Surely Arthur would be too pre-occupied with the defeat of Britain for him to worry about one unimportant warrior? He was on the verge of convincing himself when the nagging question of Ceinwen resurfaced. Perhaps you should have already done something about her, he quietly told himself.

  *

  Ceinwen had been seeing to the wounded. She was kneeling by a tub of water with her sleeves rolled up above her elbows scrubbing away at her hands and forearms with a stiff brush when she heard the cry go up from the gates; the war band had been spotted on the Ridgeway. She threw the brush into the tub and sprung to her feet as Morveren raced by her.

  As they climbed up to the wall by the East Gate Ethain rode through and made straight for the stables. Ceinwen watched him for a few seconds then joined Morveren who was already scanning the approaching column.

  ‘Gods, there’s not many are there?’ Ceinwen said softly.

  ‘There he is!’ Morveren shouted excitedly pointing to the leading riders and clutching Ceinwen’s arm.

  ‘You already knew he was safe,’ she said smiling.

  ‘Seeing is knowing!’ Morveren replied then started to scan the tail of the column where the foot soldiers walked alongside the carts.

  ‘Can you see them?’ she asked anxiously.

  Ceinwen knew she meant her brothers but she was searching among the Wessex warriors who were leading the riders.

  ‘Oh no,’ she breathed quietly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Mar’h.’

  ‘He’s not there?’ Morveren asked switching her gaze to the approaching riders.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then it must be true, he’s dead. And I can’t see Sal or the others either,’ Morveren said, fear creeping into her voice. She had received no definite word concerning the fate of her brothers; some reports said all three were alive, later reports said they were all dead and the last group to have returned to Caer Cadarn said that only Sal had survived the battles.

  It was a poor reception for a returning victorious army; the only ones there to greet them were their own wounded and the few elders who had remained at the camp. Morveren jumped the last few steps and landed lightly as the first of the warriors entered through the gate. She called out greetings to them and briefly clutched Morgund’s hand before making her way back down the line towards the foot soldiers of the legion.

  Once inside the compound the warriors wearily dismounted; it had been a long journey from the Causeway and they had only properly stopped once to rest. Those from the legion had taken it in turns to ride on the carts with the supplies but even so it had been a tiring journey under the heat of late summer.

  Ceinwen embraced Balor then held him at arm’s length studying his face. Balor could not meet her eyes and it was Morgund who answered her unspoken question, ‘He died in the second battle when the Adren broke the legion shield wall.’ Morgund shrugged as Ceinwen looked at him sadly. There did not seem to be any more for Morgund to say, the details were not important; another friend had died in the war against the Adren. Morgund gazed out towards the gate where the legion were now filing through.

  ‘Will she find any of them?’ Ceinwen asked.

  Balor cursed and led his horse away to the stables. Morgund shook his head. ‘But we beat the bastards. Ten thousand of them we reckon and they’re all crow meat now,’ he said still gazing out to the gate.

  ‘It will make a glorious tale,’ she replied quietly, thinking about the remaining ten thousand Adren in the North.

  ‘Yes, yes it will,’ Morgund said, turning his gaze to her and silently acknowledging the unspoken thought.

  ‘I’ll see to your horse. Go after her.’

  Morgund nodded his thanks and walked wearily to the gate. He found her sitting on the outer bank of the deep ditch that circled Caer Cadarn. She was staring out to the East with tears running freely down her face. He sat beside her and drew her close.

  ‘Is it worth it?’ she asked quietly.

  Morgund remained silent fearing how he would answer the question if it had been Morveren who had died and not her brothers.

  *

  Ceinwen stabled Morgund’s horse and left Aelfric to see to the feeding and watering while she sought out Arthur in the main hall. He was standing by the raised top table listening to the reports from the elders who had stayed at Caer Cadarn. He saw Ceinwen approaching and signalled her to join them at the table. He dismissed the elders and sat down indicating for Ceinwen to do the same.

  ‘They tell me we’ve had no news from the patrol shadowing the Adren army in the North for two weeks now,’ Arthur said, pouring them both a cup of wine.

  ‘That’s not necessarily a worry,’ she replied taking a sip from the cup.

  Arthur nodded and started to eat from the food that had been hurriedly laid out on the table.

  ‘We lost nine tenths of the legion and half our warriors. Half of their total force has been annihilated,’ Arthur said summarising the two battles in the East in two sentences.

  ‘So it’s definitely true that Mar’h fell?’ Ceinwen asked with sadness.

  ‘Yes. I’m going to put Elwyn in charge of the legion now,’ Arthur said tearing some bread and dunking it in his wine.

  ‘Is that all you have to say?’ Ceinwen flashed angrily.

  Arthur continued eating the bread his gray eyes staring levelly at her.

  ‘He was a friend of yours!’ Ceinwen said accusingly.

  ‘And now he’s dead,’ Arthur replied, not taking his eyes from her.

  ‘You used to care for your warriors, your friends!�
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  Arthur put down the food he was eating, ‘And now?’

  ‘Now we’re just pieces to be moved on a board! Victory is all that matters to you!’

  ‘Victory is all that matters.’

  The hall was beginning to fill with warriors looking for food and drink or a place to rest and some of them were glancing up towards the table at Ceinwen’s raised voice.

  ‘Are you prepared to sacrifice every one of us?’ she asked in an undertone of fury.

  ‘Yes,’ Arthur replied.

  Ceinwen sat back in her chair shocked by Arthur’s reply.

  ‘Defeat would be total and Britain would be lost forever. The cost of stopping that is ultimately immaterial even if it takes every warrior’s life to do so. You already know this.’

  Ceinwen’s stare faltered and she dropped her eyes to the table. She felt little connection to the man sitting opposite her, the man she thought she once knew so well. Yet despite her anger she knew he was right; if they wanted to defend Britain from an enemy like the Adren then they had to be prepared to fight to the last warrior to do it. Arthur had continued to stare at Ceinwen and suddenly he leant forwards searching her eyes, ‘You found Ethain and...’

  ‘We best go to your chamber,’ she answered quickly.

  They left the table and Arthur closed the chamber door behind her. She wondered absently who had repaired it since the last time Arthur was here. She sat on the low bed and wondered how and what she was going to say. Taking a deep breath she started, ‘We got word two days ago that Seren has given birth to a daughter. It was early and the baby is underweight and sickly but the signs are that she will grow to health.’ She looked up at him to see his reaction but he had already turned to face the open window.

  ‘Did Seren survive the childbirth?’

  ‘Yes and she too is apparently recovering.’

  Arthur sat down and Ceinwen thought she saw relief on his face.

  ‘Good. And Ethain? You found him?’