Rise of the Pendragon (Islands in the Mist Book 3)

by J. M. Hofer

  Taliesin did not aspire to play for kings. He preferred playing for the honest people who labored daily for their bread—people who knew the smell of the soil and slept with an ache in their back every night. Though he still preferred the company of trees and animals, he had learned to enjoy the company of people, both learned and simple, by delighting in the rapture and tears his music evoked in them. In those moments, he saw the divinity within them all, regardless of their outward appearance or crude manner that could obscure it in matters of everyday living.

  Most rewarding of all his experiences, however, were those with the musicians who came to him, eager to play by his side and join in the music he played. Through his travels, he had learned there were others who possessed a gift for music such as he did—those who felt and understood the world in the same way. He met drummers who found solace only in rhythm, who played as if it were the only thing standing between them and madness. He met harpists, like himself, who could listen to him play for but a few moments, and then play harmonies that courted his melody with a sublime grace.

  Never did he stay long in one place, however, no matter the hospitality or good company he encountered. He longed to return to Mynyth Aur and the grove of his youth. He wondered if Islwyn still lived and worried that perhaps he might have passed away in his absence. He was slowly making his way home, the promise of a reunion with the loved ones of his childhood the only salve for the constant ache of losing Nimue.

  Nimue. She had given him a bag fashioned from the skin of a crane before he left with a silver apple from her grove and a lock of her hair inside it. “When you wish to return to me, these will enable you to do so.” He had put Arianrhod’s feather and Cerridwen’s dagger into the bag as well, and, with a heavy heart, bidden his love good-bye. From then on, the bag had ever been on his person. He never allowed another to handle it.

  He left Nimue in the same way he had found her, by the grace of the Brisingamen. After bidding her a tearful farewell, he sat beneath the Mother Apple in her grove and listened for the song he had tried so hard to ignore. This time, the Brisingamen led him to an arboreal chieftain whose kingdom lay far to the north—a giant Fir. He spent a moon with Lord Fir, listening to his song. The oldest tree in the forest, he had sung the same song through torrid winds and cold winters for over three hundred years. Ever green, he inspired his brothers whose branches were bare to keep faith through the winter. Endure. Remember. Remain true, and you shall green again.

  When the moon was new again, Taliesin bid farewell to the Fir and returned to the world of men. He discovered he had been dwelling in the mountains of Caledonia, just north of the kingdom of Rheged. He wandered from town to town, singing and playing in village inns. Often, his name reached the next town before he did. News of his sublime playing spread quickly, and he soon found himself welcome in every village motherhouse, hall and tavern he came upon. He traveled the length of Rheged in such a way, moving southward toward Mynyth Aur.

  The closer he came to the border of Gwyneth, the more stories he heard about Vortigern. All agreed the warlord had indeed fled to the mountains of the Eryri. He was in the midst of building a fortress high atop a hill—or, rather, attempting to. It seemed the former high king was prone to misfortune. It was said his builders would begin work on the construction of his fortress each day, but the following morning, all the work they had accomplished the day prior would lay in a pile of rubble.

  Through his travels, Taliesin’s talent for solving problems and doling out wisdom had become nearly as well-known as his prowess with music, poetry and storytelling. He often commented on problems the village faced and offered solutions.

  Fate delivered news of Taliesin’s talents to Vortigern’s ears. Eager to know the answer to the riddle of why the work on his fortress lay in rubble each morning, he sent a messenger to the village where Taliesin was staying.

  “Your king summons you to aid him,” the messenger said to him.

  Taliesin scoffed. “He’s not my king. Nor will he be yours for much longer, I daresay, but I will come.”

  The messenger seemed disturbed by Taliesin’s response yet relieved he had agreed to come. They set off for the Eryri the next morning, Taliesin curious to meet the hapless ruler who had so craftfully negotiated the cinching of his own neck.

  By mid-afternoon, they reached the destination where Vortigern had chosen to build his fortress. It was a beautiful, high green hill, not far from the highest mountain in all the Eryri. Indeed, a fine place to build a castle. It offered good views of the land from all around, and a swift river ran through the valley below.

  A large team of men were hard at work reconstructing a wall that looked to have, yet again, toppled into rubble during the night. Taliesin wondered why. Perhaps the fools believe things will be different tomorrow morning. He knew very well they would not. Why do they persist in this folly?

  “Come, Master Taliesin. I’ll take you to the camp.”

  Taliesin shook his head. “No. I won’t be staying in the camp.” He had dreamt the night before of a great serpent slithering into his bed while sleeping within Vortigern’s camp. “Tell Vortigern I will sleep only in the Grove of the Magicians, north of the great hill. There, I will ask for inspiration about his dilemma. He may find me there tomorrow, whenever it pleases him to speak to me.”

  The look on the messenger’s face turned fearful. It was clear he was terrified to deliver such an impertinent message, but he had no choice but to agree.

  Taliesin clapped him on the back in farewell. “I will take my leave, then.” He took the Druid’s Path to the Grove of the Magicians, anxious to see it. Islwyn had told him it was a place of power, worthy of a trip. They had planned to make that journey together someday, but never had. I’ll be thinking of you today, my old friend. The path led him to a good number of ancient, gnarled oaks. Mabon, the autumn equinox, had just come and gone, and they were burdened with acorns. He greeted each tree in turn, and then lay down and slept well.

  The next morning, Vortigern came to the Grove with his druid advisors. “You are the one they call Taliesin?”

  “I am.”

  “I am told you can help me.”

  “I will do my best, my king.”

  Vortigern squinted, perhaps detecting Taliesin’s slight sarcasm, but did not comment on it. “Each day, my men attempt to build my fortress, and, each morning, it stands in ruins. My advisors tell me if I mix the blood of a fatherless innocent into the mortar, it will stand for eternity. I have heard talk of your great knowledge and wisdom, and that you are such a fatherless child. I have summoned you here to solve my problem, one way or the other. What is your counsel?”

  Taliesin felt shocked that such learned men would believe such foolishness, but his fate was clear. Either he would figure out the solution to Vortigern’s problem, or be sacrificed to carry out the folly his advisors had proposed.

  “I will speak plainly,” Taliesin began, making no effort to disguise his impatience. “You listen to the counsel of fools.” He shot a poisonous glance toward the druids clustered around the king. “How can it be that you have chosen these men as your advisors? They are a shame to the honorable title of Druid. You would do well to dismiss them.”

  Taliesin felt the heat of their malice and anger pricking his skin, but he did not care. His time with Arianrhod and Cerridwen had resulted in the gift of prophecy, which, though he could not yet conjure it, came to him when it desired to show him something. He knew they would be dead before the new moon and that Vortigern would not be High King for much longer. “The blood of an innocent will do nothing for you, except anger the gods. The true reason your fortress will not stand is that there are two dragons at war within a cavern deep inside the great hill you have chosen to build it upon. Until one is defeated, your efforts will continue to fail.”

  One of Vortigern’s advisors protested. “My king! Such nonsense! The boy is simply trying to save himself—he should be killed for his insolence alone!”
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br />   Taliesin motioned to the oaks that surrounded them. “I propose we let the trees judge whether or not I speak the truth.”

  Vortigern narrowed his eyes. “And how do you propose we have trees judge the truth of anything?”

  Taliesin raised his eyebrows as if such a thing were obvious. “Your advisors should know the answer to that.” He refused to call them druids.

  Being professed worshippers of the wisdom of trees, Vortigern’s advisors had no choice but to agree. With reluctance, Vortigern’s Chief Druid raised his hands to address the trees. “Great and noble Oaks, Guardians of the Forest, drop your acorns if the boy has spoken truth, and your leaves if he has spoken false.”

  The forest was quiet for but a short moment, and then the air was filled with the hail-like sound of thousands of acorns dropping to the forest floor. Taliesin could not suppress his satisfied grin.

  “Fools! You are all dismissed!” Vortigern cried after the dramatic display. “Return to camp and start digging. Find these dragons the boy speaks of or I’ll mix your blood into the mortar for my walls—if for no other reason than it will please me to do so!”

  ***

  “It is exactly as you predicted,” the messenger told Taliesin. He was breathless from the effort of running to the grove. Taliesin offered him some water, which he gulped down before continuing. “The men have discovered an underground cavern within the mountain. The king has sent me to collect you.”

  Taliesin nodded. He agreed to go, not because he respected or feared Vortigern, but because the prospect of seeing dragons was irresistible to him. To behold such glorious creatures had been a deep wish of his since boyhood. Islwyn had told him many tales of their fierce and magical power.

  The messenger led the way out of the grove and into the heart of Vortigern’s camp to a grand tent at its center. From there, he glanced up toward the top of the mountain. Again, the efforts of the day before lay in a pile of rubble. Taliesin shook his head.

  The messenger announced their arrival. Guards came out, threw back the skins covering the entrance to the tent, and ushered them inside. Taliesin encountered Vortigern surrounded by a company of warriors dressed for battle. Vortigern, too, was dressed for combat, his wide frame made to look all the wider by his breastplate. “Now, bard, you will prove your tale of dragons is true, or, tomorrow, your blood will hold the stones of my castle together.”

  “As you wish.”

  Vortigern led the way out of the tent and up the back of the mountain, until they reached a thin, long gash in its side that his men had excavated. He handed a torch to Taliesin. “In, bard.”

  Taliesin ventured in. He placed his steps carefully upon what natural ledges he could find, descending toward the sound of water far below. One by one, the others followed. Each of them carried a torch as well, so that soon, by virtue of everyone’s collective firelight, they were able to make out their surroundings.

  Taliesin made his way down to a large outcropping of rock that he hoped would provide a good view of what lay below. Heart pounding, he crept like a spider to its edge and peered over. What he saw took his breath away. Within the lake swam a dragon, red as blood, her head easily fifteen feet long. How long she had been there, Taliesin did not know. He watched in awe as flames slithered from her nostrils beneath the water as she breathed in and out. He motioned to Vortigern, summoning him over to share what he saw.

  The king crouched down and looked over. His mouth promptly fell agape. “Gods!” He shook his head in disbelief, wrinkling his brow as if he were trying to rid his eyes of the sight. “A dragon!”

  Taliesin recalled the vision of the two dragons he had seen within Cerridwen’s cauldron and shuddered with excitement. “Yes. And she is not the only one. When night falls, the other will come. Then, you shall understand why your fortress cannot be built.”

  ***

  After the sun left the sky and the moon began to rise, Taliesin led Vortigern and his men back up the mountain. As they neared the rift, the sounds of great splashes met their ears, interrupted by otherworldly shrieks rising up from the cavern below.

  Taliesin smiled and went in, chills running up and down his spine. So strong was his eagerness to see the dragons that it was some time before he realized no one had followed him. He returned to find Vortigern and his men still standing at the entrance. “Why did you not follow me?”

  “Follow you?” Vortigern raised his thick, black brows. “No. My men and I will remain here. Until we have a clear plan for killing them, I will not put them or myself in danger.”

  “Kill them?” Taliesin widened his eyes, as if somehow they could swallow Vortigern’s heinous plan and dispose of it. “You want to kill them?”

  Vortigern glared at Taliesin. “Of course!”

  Taliesin grew indignant. He was tired of humoring the shallow-minded king, even if he would be dead within the year. “How is it possible that you are so blind to the glory and magic that dwells here? Do your advisors agree with your plan? As stupid as they are, I would wager not.”

  Before Vortigern could answer or demand that he be taken captive for his insolence, Taliesin disappeared back into the mountain. He swiftly cast a web of protection across the entrance, preventing any from pursuing him. There, he began chanting, hoping to summon the dragons up to the opening and lead them to freedom. He sang but a moment before the eerie sound of the dragons’ shrieks came to an abrupt stop. He became strongly aware that his voice was now the only sound reverberating through the cavern. Where are they? They had clearly heard him and were likely moving toward him in the darkness. He began searching the cavern for the minds of the dragons, the way he often sought the mind of other animals—dogs, deer, foxes, rabbits, crows—he had shadow-slipped into them all. But a dragon? Can it be done?

  He heard Vortigern outside yelling demands but paid him no mind. He was glad he and his men were still there. The smell of them would help to entice the dragons forth. They were sure to be hungry. Dragons were not meant to survive on fish and bats.

  Sounds of crumbling rock echoed through the mountain as the dragons took the bait. Taliesin could sense them now. They had caught the scent. It would be only moments before they found them.

  What manner of god are you? he heard in his mind.

  Taliesin smiled. He had formed a bond with one of them. He hid himself within a tight crevice in the rock and threw himself into the mind of the dragon who had spoken to him.

  The dragon was outraged and fought him, struggling to force him out, but Taliesin tightened his psychic grip, digging in with his mental talons. Never had he dealt with such force before. Most animals were quick to submit to a power greater than themselves—by nature, they were designed to live in packs or flocks. Not so with the dragon he sought to inhabit. She possessed such force of will, he could scarcely work his way in. He did not give up until he succeeded in merging his thoughts with hers, but victory was not his. To his dismay, it was not his will that prevailed. It was hers. He was within her body, behind her eyes, feeling her urges, but, try as he might, he could not overpower them. Instead, his own thoughts became eclipsed by her ravenous urge to seek out the druid who was the source of her torment and devour him.

  I’ll rip you apart and eat your flesh, Druid! Taste your blood on my teeth!

  He was only vaguely aware that the creature she longed to destroy was himself.

  Then, she felt a hot searing pain rake into her flank and let loose a bellow of agony. Infused with rage, she turned toward her enemy. His white skin glowed like wet moonlight within the cavern, and his eyes flashed like a cat’s in the dark.

  Usurper! Invader! Poisoner of my land! I will share breath with you no more!

  She thrust herself off the crag she was clutching and threw her entire weight down upon the white dragon, hurling them both toward the water far below. They were swallowed up by the lake with such force, she lost her grip on her opponent. He was soon ripping at her red flesh, and she felt her blood running into the cold wate
r around them.

  She struck back, raking at his throat until he took to the sky to flee. She watched as he rose like the moon toward the rift in the mountain, and then spread her wings and flew in pursuit.

  The white dragon burst through the narrow rocky gap Vortigern’s men had dug in the side of the mountain, blowing it apart. Rocks and rubble flew in all directions, sending boulders careening down the side of the mountain or crashing into the lake below. She knew she must catch him soon, before he disappeared among the stars.

  ***

  In a sudden burst of pain, Taliesin was expelled from the dragon’s mind and became aware of his body still wedged between the rocks where he had hidden. He looked up just as the red dragon flew out of the now enormous opening in the side of the mountain.

  He forced his weak legs to carry him outside just in time to see both dragons hovering in the night sky, their wings so massive they blocked out the full moon, casting the world into shadow.

  Vortigern and his men scrambled down the mountain in terror, but Taliesin remained, awestruck by the sight overhead.

  The dragons surged ever upward, the firmament becoming their battlefield. The fight raged through the night, sending red and white scales falling toward the ground like autumn leaves from two giant and terrible trees. Cries rose up from the camp below as men fled in fear.

  Yet, still, Taliesin remained.

  Hour after hour, the dragons pursued one another across star paths and mountain peaks, belching streams of fire that lit up the land below. Then, just before dawn, the red dragon rose up in a burst of ferocious fire and raked her talons through a wing of the white, tearing through its leathery flesh. Her victim screeched with a piercing cry that splintered the sky, scraping at the heavens as he plummeted toward the earth. His scales glittered in the new day’s light as he spiraled out of control and hit the ground, taking out a forest of trees as he slid to a stop. The force of his impact sent waves of thunder rolling through the earth, causing every structure for miles around to shake or collapse.