by C J Brown
Pendragon
and the
Sorcerer's Despair
C.J. Brown
Pendragon Legend Book Five:
Pendragon and the Sorcerer's Despair
Copyright © 2021 by C.J. Brown. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Prologue
1. Hunted
2. Darkness Closing In
3. Forgiveness
4. Cornered
5. Spells
6. Counsel
7. Hope
8. Sanctuary
9. Dragon
10. Gilidor
11. A Father
12. Ancient History
13. From Beyond
14. Defense of Land's End
15. Failed
16. Katyana
17. Change of Heart
Newsletter
About the Author
Also by C.J. Brown
For my readers--You inspire me.
Prologue
In the dark age of Brittania, three thousand years before Arthur
Land’s End
Dust fell from the ceiling as blocks of stone rained upon the city. An iron sconce fell from the wall to the stone floor and its fire began scorching the oaken doors of the temple.
“My lady, we must go,” the Guardian said. From outside, they could hear the clangor of steel and the shouts of men as another round of stone struck the temple.
“My lady, we can’t stay.”
“There will be nowhere to run if the evil that has awoken lives on,” Enya said, watching the great bonfire, contained atop a ring of steps at the center of the temple in a ring of stone. Around it, the warlocks and witches of Demetia stood and watched as the fire shifted, guttered, and began to fade.
“Use anything you can find,” Enya said. “This fire must not go out.”
Payjen looked at her uncertainly as the rest of the guards eyed the sorcerers who stared at the fire.
“Use everything,” he said, angrily. “Oil, benches, anything.”
At once, the Guardians started throwing the torches at the fire and breaking the benches to fuel it. One guard carried a pile of old books to the flames, but Payjen stopped him.
“Those are the sacred scrolls,” he said. “They cannot burn.”
“Those scrolls will mean nothing if this fire goes out, Captain,” Enya said. “Those pages are just pages. Burn the books.” Payjen didn’t say anything, but he looked back at the Guardian, and nodded.
The warrior stepped forward and threw the books at the fire. Red embers flew as another Guardian tossed an oaken leg from one of the chairs.
–
“Your Grace! Your Grace!”
Mergus Megolin turned to see a captain running up to him, his armor dented and spattered with blood. “Your Grace! The enemy have captured the harbor! The people can’t escape!”
Mergus turned to see the dock.
Billowing flames sent great columns of smoke toward the heavens as red embers swirled around the sails of the war galleys and merchant ships. Northern mercenaries were battling Demetian soldiers and the water itself was afire as burning driftwood floated around the ships.
Mergus turned to Fergus. “Rally your Highlanders. Go to the oak grove and take out the catapults. Ergar’s archers will be there as well. Eliminate both, and that will let our men fight without fire raining from the skies.”
“At once, Your Grace.”
Fergus turned and galloped off, the hooves of his horse striking the cobblestone road.
He raised his golden greatsword as he thundered by the gate of the Green Keep. “Men of Caledonia!” He yelled. “Warriors of the north!”
Another round of fire raced through the sky.
It struck one of the watchtowers, setting the stones to flying out as the tower began to collapse.
Men shouted as they ran to avoid the stones, and the watchtower fell with a deafening roar.
The hiss of arrows sounded nearby as Demetian archers let fly a flight of arrows that arced through the sky and fell on the battlefield.
“Brothers!” Fergus yelled. “The enemy has already captured the harbor. Most of our men are pinned here! But the fight’s not over. Ergar’s archers and catapults are firing from the oak grove! We take them out, and we may just get a chance to break free of this trap! Now charge with me!”
The cavalry yelled and thundered after their general, swords drawn.
The northerners battled what remained of the infantry just a few yards away.
Some of them ran aside when they saw the line of Caledonian cavalry charging toward them.
Fergus’ horse reared when it reached the enemy ranks and he slashed at one of the soldiers standing near him.
The rest of the cavalry collided with the block of steel. Their horses’ iron hooves kicked the northerners where their surcoats were emblazoned with the shining blade of Ergar as the men cut down mercenaries and their fellow Highlanders alike who had remained loyal to the Fallen King.
As Fergus’ blade sheared through the mail and tunic of another soldier, another lunged at his courser with his ax.
The sunlight glinted off the blade and caught Fergus’ attention. He slashed at the man, cutting his arm off at the elbow. Blood gushed from where his arm had been and he staggered back, screaming.
Fergus cut down another one of the soldiers and looked to see the rest of his cavalry, cutting through the enemy’s ranks. But the oak grove was still five hundred yards away, and there were twenty thousand men standing between the Green Keep and the trees that sheltered the catapults and the archers.
–
Mergus’ horse whickered and neighed as it stood by the gate of the keep.
The air was heavy with smoke and embers, making breathing itself painful as the air seared his lungs, but that was the least of his concerns right now. To the north, the plaza was burning. The shops and alehouses were wreathed with billowing flames, and there were still soldiers fighting amidst the streets, shrouded with smoke.
To the west, Demetian blood was reddening the waters of the Emerald Sea as the ships burned. As Mergus looked at the harbor, an explosion from one of the ships sent clouds of fire and a wave of splinters flying out. The buckets of tar it had been carrying fell, burning, to the water, and men fighting to get back to shore were engulfed by the flames.
Mergus looked at the men standing with him.
The archers were loosing every arrow they could find, while the rest stood still, watching the battle with eyes cold as ice.
But Mergus could feel their distress. He could hear the thoughts of fear that they screamed, and he could sense their dread, their hollow, withering dread.
He was about to say something when he felt a sharp pain stab through his chest.
He looked and saw the white fletching of the arrow that sheared through his collarplate. Then another arrow struck him, and this time, some of the soldiers heard.
>
They turned and saw their king with two arrows bristling from his chest.
“No!” one of them said. He raised his shield, and others did the same. His shield stopped another arrow that would have hit their king.
Mergus felt his blood leak out of his armor, and he fell from his horse. His armor clattered when he struck the stone ground.
“Where is my son?” he said. “Where is my son?”
At once, the standard-bearer ran off, looking for the prince as Mergus lay by his horse, watching the sky, black with smoke.
–
One of the warlocks winced as another round of stone struck the temple.
He staggered back and nearly fell, but caught himself with the iron rings that normally held the sconces.
“Toryen,” Enya said, frowning.
He looked at her, his yellow eyes growing dark.
“The light is fading,” he said. “King Mergus is dying.”
Payjen looked at them, confused.
“But…the fire.”
“The darkness is growing unstoppable,” Enya cut him off, and turned back to Toryen. “Don’t distract from the fire,” she said. “Do not fall asleep.”
–
The sword swept by his eyes, nearly cutting through his nose, but the man was too far off to reach him. When the blade arced away, Mergyle lunged, cutting the man down.
Around him, Demetian warriors and Royal Guards were maintaining a line of shields, cutting down the enemy by reaching over the iron disks.
Mergyle stepped up to the shields and slashed at a soldier about to cut down one of the Demetian soldiers.
“Watch out!” A voice shouted. He turned to see a spear flying towards him. He moved aside, and the weapon flew past and clattered when it landed.
“Prince Mergyle!” another person shouted. Footsteps hurrying towards him. He turned and saw a man with a pothelm running to him.
“Your father requests your presence! He has been wounded.”
Mergyle looked at him, not able to believe what he’d just heard.
The man turned and started running back, and Mergyle followed. His thoughts were centered around his father. All he could think about was the last time they’d seen each other, a day past, before Ergar’s army arrived at the city. They had been planning their attack. Mergyle was to attack Ergar’s right flank with his cavalry while Mergus attacked the left flank and Fergus attacked the main line. But Mergyle had wanted to attack the main line and argued with his father when he heard his orders. None of what they had planned happened, and now Mergyle refused to believe that he must lose his father when the last time they spoke it had been an argument.
Mergyle followed the man back to the main gate of the keep as another round of fire raced above and hit the castle. A pile of stones fell away, roaring when they crashed.
Some of the lesser stones fell upon the army, but the soldiers raised their shields and they clattered off the iron disks.
Mergyle saw his father just a moment later, lying by his horse.
The archers by the gate were loosing flight after flight of arrows at the enemy as the storm of swords raged just yards away.
Mergyle knelt beside his father. “Father,” he said.
Mergus’ eyes opened, and he smiled. “Son,” he said. “I feared you were lost.”
“No, I’m not. And you aren’t going to be either.”
“Mergyle, we all knew this day was near.”
“Father, don’t say that.”
Mergyle began to sob. He remembered the last thing he had said to his father, and he could feel the guilt and anger poisoning his thoughts.
“Mergyle, this is no time to dwell upon the past. You must care only about the future. What wounds we may have caused each other, they’re healed. Focus, my child. And remember, I may be gone after this, but like or ancestors, I will still be here with you. And you must make sure that the light survives. The darkness cannot be allowed to reign. It cannot. The Ergar we are fighting now is the not the man we knew a decade ago. That Ergar is gone. And now we must save what there is left from this monster.”
One of the soldiers fell beside them, blood leaking from where a javelin had struck his chest.
The sound of clattering hooves reached his ears, and Mergyle turned to see Fergus galloping towards him.
“Mergyle,” his father said, and he turned back to him.
“Do not let your emotions cloud your judgement. Do not let anger and pain steer you wrong. I love you, son.”
“Father, I’m so sorry,” Mergyle cried. “I love you too.”
But his father was not there anymore. His eyes stared blankly. Mergyle’s tears washed away the soot that had blackened his face.
He could not hear anything else, and his mind thought of nothing but his father.
“Your Grace!” A voice yelled.
Mergyle turned, still not able to pry himself away from his tears.
“Your Grace! The cavalry has been dispersed. We cannot make it to the catapults,” Fergus shouted.
Mergyle looked at him, then looked beyond at the battlefield.
He stood.
“I don’t care,” he growled. “Call every close-combat soldier we have. The archers will remain and guard the keep. The rest of us are shattering the northerners.”
Fergus looked at him.
He nodded and galloped off.
Mergyle turned, a black storm upon his face, his cloak swirling amidst the toxic air.
He walked past the line of archers, and they looked at him with shock.
“Your Grace!” They started yelling.
But Mergyle did not answer.
A thunderous roar sounded from the right and Mergyle turned to see Demetians and Fergus’ northerners fight their way through the block of soldiers, rallying soldiers from the field of single combat to their side.
“Archers!” Mergyle yelled. “Keep loosing! I want the sky alight with fire arrows.”
“Yes, Your Grace!” The archers said.
They set their arrows afire and loosed.
As a flight of a thousand arrows, trailing fire and smoke, raced through the sky, Mergyle turned and walked towards the site of the battle just yards away beyond the spiked trenches and moats.
Just a few feet from the moat, he started running.
The steel armor and weapons of the enemy reflected the wave of fire arrows that arced through the air and began to fall.
Launching when he reached the moat, he soared through the air, poised to strike, as he fell toward the ranks of fighting soldiers. He landed, cutting down the first northerner, as the arrows fell on the soldiers.
Some of their own men were hit, but most were able to escape the arrows for them to find the surcoats of their enemies. Shrill shouts and screams sounded from the battlefield as soldiers, with their backs engulfed by flame, ran, looking to douse the fire. Mergyle slashed at one of the Ergar soldiers and then lunged at another.
The man’s kite shield stopped his blade, but Mergyle just attacked again, and cut off the man’s legs.
Leaving him to his agony, he cut down another soldier and looked to see Fergus battling his way towards him.
Another flight of fire arrows fell upon the battlefield, as a line of burning tar catapulted from the oak grove. They raced toward the Keep, trailing smoke. Chunks of the castle broke away. Fires erupted throughout the yard, and guards ran from the battlements as they fell away.
–
“The fire, it’s stable now,” Payjen said, stepping back as one of the guards tossed another book at the bonfire.
And then a great roar sounded. The crash of stone could be heard from outside, and dust fell from the ceilings as a line sprouted across the north wall and the ceiling.
“Payjen, there is no way out of here,” Enya said.
“The Keep is surrounded by the enemy. But we will fight till the very end.” Payjen and the Guardians looked at her. “Aye,” Payjen said. “To the end.”
A solemn silence fell on the temple. The fires of the battle could be seen through the windows and the clangor of steel and the shouts of agony could be heard.
“They are with us,” Enya said, “all of our brothers and sisters who fell to The Cleansing. They are here now. And we are about to see them.”
Payjen turned at the sound of steel crashing through a door and men shouting as their steps echoed through the hall.
“Soldiers!” He yelled as he drew his sword.
The Guardians drew their weapons and formed two ranks before the bonfire.
–
Mergyle cut down another northerner, fighting beside Fergus and his soldiers before the gates of the Keep. An arrow raced past his head, and Mergyle turned to see an archer standing amidst the soldiers, notching another arrow.
He ran towards him, and before the soldier could draw, he slashed, cutting through his surcoat, hauberk, and tunic.
The man fell forward and Mergyle was about to slash at another soldier when they heard a loud roar like metal screeching and turned to see the keep.
Ergar’s army was concentrating at the western Sea Gate. A great stone seemed to have wrenched the portcullis and the enemy was pouring through.
Mergyle turned to Fergus.
“Double back to the keep! They’re getting through.” He turned and ran back, cutting down Ergar soldiers as they ran for the gate.
Fergus yelled at his men to turn back, and soon, the army of two thousand northerners were fighting their way back to the Keep.
Mergyle cut down another one of Ergar’s soldiers and turned to Fergus. “We’ve got to cut them off!”
Fergus looked at the column of soldiers pouring through the gate.
He turned to his men. “Form a line and charge!” He yelled. “We’ll surround them!”
They turned and hurried off, and the soldiers forwarded his orders as Mergyle and Fergus reached the river of soldiers storming the gate.
Mergyle cut down one as Fergus slashed at another.
