Chronicle of Ages

by Traci Harding

  ‘Resurrected!’ Samson echoed, horrified by their claims.

  ‘Aye. Conan lives, sure enough.’

  The entire assembly turned to find Taliesin making his way down the steep incline.

  ‘As usual, my High Merlin arrives now that the crisis hast passed,’ Maelgwn jeered.

  Could this be the mighty Taliesin? Samson backed up a little, having never truly believed that the sorcerer existed; the druid looked as old as time itself.

  ‘I have been trapped in an obelisk for thy information,’ Taliesin stated in a huff, whereby the Kings and their kin couldn’t help but laugh.

  ‘Conan be fast on his way to Armorica if anyone be of the mind to bring him to justice.’

  The Merlin’s comment certainly served to sober the group abruptly.

  ‘What art the charges against my Prince?’ Samson confronted the Merlin, thinking him the mastermind behind Conan’s exile.

  ‘Abduction, rape, battery.’ Cara swung the Bishop around to enlighten him.

  ‘Of whom?’ Samson inquired further, for she looked in perfect health.

  Cara began to shake, not with fear or remorse, but anger. ‘I wast healed along with these other confused folk you see around us —’

  ‘Add theft to Conan’s offences,’ Maelgwn cut in to prevent Cara from having to say more. ‘Thy Prince hast set sail with most of his father’s treasury, that I can prove.’

  ‘To protect it from being pillaged, I shall warrant.’ The Bishop jumped to the Prince’s defence.

  ‘He claimed differently.’ Cara scoffed at his naivety.

  ‘Conan knew that ye of the Goddess’ alliance would reject him and run him off.’ Samson voiced his objection.

  ‘My dear Samson.’ Maelgwn pinched the top of his nose, as he considered how to make the Bishop see reason. ‘In all the years we have ruled, has the Goddess’ council ever attempted to drive thee out of Briton because of thy faith?’

  ‘Nay,’ Samson answered honestly, ‘but I do not rule a kingdom.’

  ‘Forget the goddamned priest,’ Vortipor snarled. ‘How art we to catch Conan? From where we stand now, he hast gained a day’s head start on us. Even if we ride hard to Dynevor and take the river from there —’

  Sounds like an awful waste of time. The dragon stuck his huge head over the rise above. Only Maelgwn and Taliesin heard the dragon’s words. Everyone else assembled was made aware of his presence by the sound of his roar.

  The construction workers all started fleeing for their recently-restored lives.

  ‘Hell’s bells —’ Samson was set to fly into a fit, but Maelgwn gripped his shoulder to reassure him.

  ‘Fear not, he only eats criminals.’

  The King’s playful air was so casual and familiar that Samson relaxed. Was the King attempting humour? He was not given a chance to ask, as Maelgwn had turned back to address the huge beast.

  ‘I felt sure thee would have fled back to thy etheric home long before this, Rufus.’

  One decided to stick around so one could not be accused of abandoning thee, thus forfeiting my reward.

  ‘Thou hast earned thy reward twice over, my friend,’ Maelgwn assured, ‘but if thee would be so kind as to aid us now, I shall be forever in thy debt.’

  All eyes looked to the dragon, for although none could hear his words, the differing tone of his roar conveyed his thoughts fairly clearly.

  A battle at sea would be a grand final quest, Rufus conceded with a grunt.

  ‘A truly legendary deed,’ Maelgwn encouraged, giving the thumbs up to let the others know that the dragon had agreed to take them.

  ‘So what art we waiting for?’ Brockwell was raring to go.

  Maelgwn ignored Brockwell’s eagerness and questioned Bryce further. ‘How many men did Conan have with him?’

  Bryce dwelt on the question a moment. It had been dark and with the confusion on the deck it was hard to discern how many the sailors had numbered. ‘Perhaps thirty, maybe more.’

  ‘We number but eight.’ Vortipor did not count the priest or the Merlin.

  ‘Three and a half to one odds seems a bit unfair … on them,’ Tory commented, spurring them all to riot.

  ‘I love this plan,’ Brockwell cried out.

  ‘Cara.’ Tory noted that she seemed not as enthusiastic about the hunt, and could well understand why. ‘Thou art not obliged to come.’

  ‘I have anger to vent,’ the Lady advised, solemnly, ‘and that will be best expended on a just cause.’

  ‘Settled.’ Brockwell urged everyone to action. ‘Can we go?’

  The warriors involved all scaled the rise to where Rufus awaited.

  Only as Samson watched the dragon depart overhead did it come to his attention that he’d been left in Taliesin’s company.

  ‘So.’ Taliesin turned to the young Bishop. ‘I have a prophecy for thee.’

  The Bishop looked to the druid, wary of what was forthcoming.

  ‘Thou dost not have to believe it,’ Taliesin pointed out. ‘But should the event come to pass, then thee shall know what to expect. Fair enough?’

  The worry did not leave Samson’s face, but he nodded to give the High Merlin leave to voice his mind.

  When Conan awoke it took him quite some time to regain his bearings. He recalled vanquishing a woman. ‘Cara!’ He sprang to his feet to look for her.

  Dead men do not give orders.

  Now he remembered — Conan hadn’t seen his assailant’s face, but his voice was committed to memory. He ran his hands over his own face and head in search of a sore spot, but he did not find one. As the treasure chests all still appeared in order, Conan moved above deck to exact a few explanations.

  ‘What the devil happened here!’ he roared upon finding his men all laying about as if they were half dead.

  ‘What the devil indeed,’ said the Captain, spooked. ‘We were attacked, Majesty, last night.’

  ‘Attacked by whom?’ Conan demanded more information, and the Captain seemed most reluctant to give it.

  ‘They were spirits, Majesty.’

  ‘Spirits!’ Conan was so enraged he punched the man. ‘That wast no spirit that attacked me.’

  ‘Then where art thy wounds?’ the Captain was quick to retort.

  On that point Conan was stumped, which only made him all the more furious.

  ‘Dragon ahoy!’ cried the watchman in the hawk’s nest above.

  Conan reached boiling point, believing his men were playing him for the fool. ‘One more report of mythological creatures and I shall personally run through the man who makes it!’

  ‘Then I would not look up, Majesty.’ The Captain watched the huge beast come to hover over their ship. ‘The Dragon himself hast come for thee,’ the Captain informed Conan with a grin — he’d not warmed to the Prince at all. ‘Defend thyself for true!’ The Captain yelled the warning to his crew as he made a dash for the side of the ship and jumped overboard.

  Under the circumstances, the oarsmen and crew decided it best to follow their Captain into the water and make a swim for shore. By the time Maelgwn’s party slid down their ropes to land on the deck, Conan stood alone.

  ‘That was a bit anticlimactic,’ grumbled Brockwell. ‘I drew my sword for nothing! How about thee, Conan? Dost thou fancy a fight?’ he mocked the lone warrior, but Conan was not stupid enough to try to resist them.

  ‘Down Brockwell.’ Maelgwn approached Conan to take him into custody. ‘I feel sure he does not wish to die twice in one day.’

  The Dragon’s comment was meant to taunt Conan, and it did. ‘I am not afraid of thee, Dragon.’

  ‘Thou hast no need to fear me,’ Maelgwn assured him light-heartedly, as he relieved Conan of his weapon. ‘It be the good Lord and Lady of Dyfed thou hast to fear.’ He raised both brows and stepped aside as it was up to Cara and Vortipor to decree Conan’s fate.

  When Conan sighted Cara he was shocked to discover that she had been completely healed.

  ‘Surprise!’ she taunted.
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br />   Everyday horror and torment Conan could deal with, but this was supernatural and it defied all explanation, save one. ‘Thou art demons.’

  ‘Believe it!’ Cara hissed, as she unexpectedly kneed the Prince in the genitals. Every man present winced as Conan fell to the ground. ‘Be thankful to the Goddess that I leave thee in one piece.’ She glared down at him savouring the sight of Conan in agony. ‘Do with him what thee will.’ Cara left her husband to decide what would become of the prisoner.

  Vortipor was so furious that a fate befitting this piece of vermin escaped him at present, but he would devise something suitably agonising once given a calm mind to reflect on it. ‘Let us get him back to Dyfed,’ he decreed.

  ‘I challenge thee to produce proof that I have committed a crime,’ Conan spluttered.

  At which time, Fergus MacErc emerged from the cargo hold. ‘It looks as if the entire wealth of Gwent be down here,’ he advised Maelgwn, who in turn looked back to Conan.

  ‘I demand a proper trial.’

  Bryce came to stand before the fallen warrior. ‘Dead men do not give orders.’

  ‘It wast thee!’ Conan struggled upright, recognising his assailant’s voice and he was aghast to behold a boy. ‘Thou art the one who knocked me out.’ He began to chuckle.

  ‘I shattered thy skull with my foot,’ Bryce informed Conan, ‘and I would do it again.’

  But Conan only laughed harder.

  ‘I think he might be losing his grip on reality,’ Maelgwn commented sideways to Vortipor.

  ‘He will have, by the time I get finished with him,’ the Protector hissed.

  Mission accomplished, Tory came forward to take her leave of Maelgwn. ‘There be nothing more I can do here,’ she told him, ‘so I think I should seek out Selwyn and see how he fares.’

  ‘Art thou planning to take the dragon?’ Maelgwn was amused by the notion.

  ‘Nay. Taliesin informs me that I have my own in-built transport, so I thought I might try it out.’ She set herself up for the challenge.

  ‘Ah, I see!’ Maelgwn stepped away to give her some room. ‘Well, will away then.’

  ‘Alright, here goes.’ She closed her eyes, and focusing on Selwyn, Tory willed herself to be with him.

  The High King could barely believe his eyes when Tory began to fade from sight. He wanted to cry out his congratulations, but refrained from disturbing her concentration. Thou art a wonder, Tory Alexander, he thought, a proud tear forming in his eye.

  The blue-white light of the ethers began to disperse, making visible the forest in which Tory now stood.

  ‘Wow, etheric-lag,’ she mumbled in jest, as the physical world re-manifested around her and she regained her equilibrium. ‘But what a way to fly!’ She wished Taliesin had informed her of this ability sooner.

  Judging by the height and strength of the huge twisted oak trees surrounding her, this was a very old grove. The extended branches of the trees overhead created a canopy, which blocked out most of the sun and made for sparse vegetation on the forest floor.

  Tory spotted the druid she sought close by, laying on his back in the centre of a ring of oak trees, staring up at the overhanging branches. As he seemed rather absorbed in meditation, Tory quietly approached and lay down on her back beside him.

  ‘Forgive me, Highness.’ Selwyn jumped to his feet and bowed his head low. ‘I did not know it wast thee.’

  ‘Thou art forgiven,’ Tory assured him, remaining seated.

  ‘I do not want to speak of it,’ he said. ‘Not now, or ever. Nor shall I write of it.’

  This was not exactly what Tory had hoped to hear. ‘Whatever happened hast obviously greatly saddened thee, Selwyn. Would it not be better to release the experience and let it go —’

  ‘Nay!’ Selwyn began to fret. ‘I shall never let it go, never!’

  ‘Sorry, my mistake.’ Tory rose slowly, so as not to scare him off. ‘Can thee tell me what Maelgwn did to be chosen High King, at least?’

  Selwyn’s eyes opened wide as he considered the question, looking anywhere but at Tory.

  She was no psychologist, but Selwyn’s behaviour was bordering on madness. He was very obviously emotionally traumatised, but how was Tory to help him without any clue as to the cause?

  At last, Selwyn shook his head. ‘Thy love for each other prevailed. That be all thee need know.’

  ‘And thee, Selwyn? What part did thee play?’ Tory coaxed, as he seemed to be having a sane moment.

  ‘The fool.’ he said without hesitation or emotion.

  As neither of them knew what to say at this point, Selwyn retrieved his harp. He placed the strap of the skin case over one shoulder to sit across his body, and positioning the instrument so that it sat comfortably, he turned and walked beyond the circle of oaks.

  ‘Where art thou going?’ Tory felt sure he didn’t know.

  ‘Away.’

  ‘Why?’ Tory noted that he walked and did not vanish, so she presumed it was alright for her to follow. Selwyn stopped and turned back to her, whereby she halted also.

  ‘I want to be alone,’ he said, still avoiding eye contact with the High Queen.

  A lump began to build in Tory’s throat. Selwyn had always confided in her. Why was he so distant? ‘Tell me honestly, Selwyn, have I done something to hurt thee?’

  ‘Nay!’ he was quick to respond. He even looked at her for a moment before lowering his sights once more. ‘Thou hast always been my saviour, and nothing hast changed. I am at fault. I failed.’

  ‘But where be the failure in saving the day?’ Tory beseeched him.

  ‘Here be the failure.’ Selwyn motioned to his heart. ‘For it was not I who saved the day.’

  ‘But —’

  ‘No more questions!’ he cried out, his emotions bursting forth. ‘Please Majesty, no more questions.’

  His mumbled plea broke Tory’s heart; she was not handling this very well. ‘I swear by the Goddess I shall never ask about it again.’

  Selwyn shook his head, tears spilling from his eyes, for he knew she meant what she said. ‘I endangered thee, and others dear to me. I am a threat, a liability! Please, Majesty, bid me go.’

  Although Tory was shaking her head to disagree with everything he said, it was painfully obvious that she was not aiding his situation. Selwyn had appeared calm when she arrived and now he was completely distraught. ‘If it be thy wish to retreat from those who care about thee, I cannot stop thee. Just promise me one thing … let me know how thou art faring from time to time.’

  Selwyn nodded as he turned and walked away. ‘But expend no energy on worry for me, Highness. That would be an undeserved waste of a precious resource.’ The Druid vanished into the forest.

  This was the last time Tory saw Selwyn for many years, and in the ensuing ten years of their association they never again spoke of the night they spent in the fold of Gwyn ap Nudd.

  The next time the leaders of the alliance were gathered together in one place was one month later at the festival of Lughnasa.

  On the first night of the four day celebration, the Council of Kings had Prince Bryce rousted from his bed and brought down to the feast.

  As the lad entered, the entire room was upstanding to cheer and applaud him. The Prince was driven forth by numerous pats on the back towards the main table where the leaders of the alliance awaited him. Bryce was surprised to discover all twelve Masters of the Goddess present also, which rarely happened due to security reasons. There must be something major happening, he thought, although he couldn’t imagine what it was.

  ‘Prince Bryce.’ Maelgwn held up a goblet to toast the lad. ‘For thy gallant deeds during the recent debacle, we of the council would like to honour thee. Fetch the man a drink.’ One of the maids was quick to oblige the High King’s command and Maelgwn handed the proceedings over to Tory, who held her goblet high.

  ‘To Prince “I shall be a brave knight” Bryce, for succeeding in his aspiration.’

  ‘To Prince Bryce.’ The room chee
red, drank to his bravery and were again seated.

  Bryce just stood there, stunned. He was so overwhelmed he didn’t know what to do. Luckily, his father was on hand to grab him in a headlock and ruffle his hair.

  ‘Thou art thy father’s son, alright.’

  ‘Not in every respect,’ Bryce grinned, as he cast his father off, ‘but I am working on it.’

  ‘If I might cut in.’ Vortipor drew a magnificent steel sword from its scabbard and waved it in front of the young Prince’s eyes. ‘I hear thine own weapon met with an unfortunate accident. Thus, please accept this meagre offering as a small token of my appreciation.’

  ‘Meagre offering!’ Bryce took hold of the sword reverently and moved to a space where he could wield it freely.

  ‘I think he likes it,’ Brockwell commented aside to Vortipor.

  But this was not the greatest reward the council had planned for their teenage hero.

  Bryce’s adopted mother, Queen Katren of Powys, rose from her seat at the main table to carry forth his prize. ‘Dear Bryce.’ She called for his attention.

  Bryce gave his sword a rest. He noticed how quiet the room had gone suddenly as he looked to his mother. She walked toward him carrying the black training attire of a Master. The lad’s heart leapt into his throat. Could it be that his time had finally come?

  ‘Thy gallantry of late, my son, hast made me very proud. It hast also made me realise that there be another in Powys more deserving to be a Master than I, and therefore I stand down from my position in the twelve in favour of that brave soul who hast proven himself most worthy.’

  Both mother and son were tearful as the young Prince accepted the uniform. He bowed to his mother, as they did in mastery classes.

  ‘On behalf of myself,’ Tory began in a formal tone, ‘and on behalf of Maelgwn, High King of Gwynedd; Vortipor, the Protector of Dyfed; the Lady Cara; Sir Rhys and Lady Jenovefa of Din Lligwy; Sir Angus and Lady Alma of Caernarvon; King Brockwell of Powys; Sir Tiernan, champion to the High King; and my champion the Lady Ione, I do welcome thee to our circle.’

  Bryce stood at attention bursting with pride as he took in the words of his Sensei.