Pendragon and the Sorcerer's Despair (Pendragon Legend Book 5)

by C J Brown

  Silently, Merlin and the rest of his family and the carriage carrying Arthur and Uther left the city.

  The great stones that rose high around them were themselves obscured by the mist which hid the battlements that loomed high above.

  Somehow, everything about the scene made Merlin feel uneasy.

  But he told himself he was being crazy.

  They emerged from the fog bank minutes later to look upon a green field, dotted by autumn trees. They could see the lordsroad now. It was a great rutted path that went on towards the capital of Land’s End.

  Flanked by thistles and hedges and plants, the road was not littered with wagons and weapons and ash like the streets of Demetia had been.

  Merlin felt sadness when he saw how the fighting had not yet turned this green field to a wasteland. There were farms nearby, Merlin knew, that had not yet been torched. And Merlin feared that they would be soon.

  He turned and saw the great towers of Gilidor rising out of the fog, and, though he hoped to calm his nerves, only felt doubt about whether this great fortress would be able to stay the enemy that had already stolen as much as it had.

  They traveled all day, dined as they went, and didn’t stop for anything but to water their horses.

  When night fell, they could see the lights from homes miles away.

  The pine and oak trees that dotted the fields were still partly green, though most of their leaves had fallen and the ground around them was blanketed with yellow. Merlin and his family sought shelter beside two oak trees that kept back the worst of the wind.

  He placed his weapon by one of them and leaned beside it.

  His horse whickered as the carriage drivers tethered their horses to the tree and as the servants set up the king’s pavilion.

  Two who had traveled with them from Gilidor were hunters of Land’s End. As Merlin rested by the tree, they walked off with bows and quivers to find some game for supper.

  Merlin remembered the first time he had traveled by horse. He had had saddle sores after just practicing. After a while, he was able to travel for a day without feeling more than a cramp. But this time, he could feel his legs were painful and felt welts across them. His back ached and Merlin could feel tears as the blood returned to it.

  So, he remained silent, containing his misery.

  His waterskin was beside him and he drank, not caring about the foul taste anymore.

  The water tasted bitter and swampy, and he had to spit the rest out. That just made him feel worse. He was still destined for failure, his head felt as heavy as a hammer, and the pressure from dehydration made him feel like it was about to burst.

  He threw the waterskin away and leaned back.

  Nearby, the page was starting a fire outside Megolin’s tent. Smoke rose from the hearth as embers hovered around it, heating the iron pot that hung above.

  “Merlin,” Megolin said. “Won’t you join us?”

  Clyde and Igraine were already seated by the fire, along with the carriage drivers and the two other servants.

  Night had already fallen, and the sky was a dark blue with an orange hue where the sun had already disappeared.

  The clouds were clearing, and a sky of stars was shining.

  Peaceful, but for the army of Huns that lurked just miles away and war that had already turned all the lands outside Land’s End to a battlefield.

  Merlin rose, struggling to fight the cramp his back was protesting with. As he stood, the embroidery of his cloak glowed a light purple, reflecting the anger he felt amidst his calm.

  He walked over to the campfire.

  The iron pot was empty.

  “Waiting for the hunters to return, Your Grace,” the page said.

  Merlin just nodded as the fire crackled.

  They sat silently as they waited for the hunters to return.

  They did, an hour later, each carrying a few rabbits.

  They dropped them by the page.

  “Best we could find,” one of them said.

  “It’ll do,” he answered and then started removing the fur and skin as one of the other servants prepared the soup.

  But Merlin did not see any of that. He thanked Gaea for the fire, and for the safety that could still be found amidst Land’s End. As the stew boiled above the fire, Merlin’s mind drifted to Arthur and how to get him to return.

  A revival was not only dependent upon the ability of the sorcerer. It was also greatly dependent upon the will of the subject. If the subject refused to return, only the most powerful spells could revive them, and their souls would be dark when they awoke. It would only make things worse for that person and those who missed him.

  Merlin thought about how Mergus and Fergus were going to speak to him. They would tell him about the history of the Isle, Merlin knew, and how things needed to be healed and Britannia must be united. They would tell him about Excalibur, the blessed, spell-forged blade of the king who would unite the lords and peoples.

  But Merlin knew Arthur was not the kind of person who cared about being a chosen one. And if what Merlin had told him about how the light was growing dark didn’t change his mind, Merlin feared nothing would.

  Merlin shook his head. He could not let himself fall to despair. Hope, as Merlin had learned his predecessors said during the War of the Light, was what would light the way, was what would ensure that their cause triumphed no matter what.

  As long as one had hope, one could trust the cosmos would tend towards them. Lose hope, and that was the end of things.

  A few minutes later, Lukan was scooping out the rabbit stew and serving them.

  Merlin looked at the stew. There were carrots and onions and rabbit floating around. Merlin was famished, and he started eating.

  Thankfully, the food was not foul, and Merlin found some his clarity returning.

  When his bowl was empty, he placed it by the fire.

  Because of the food, he no longer felt weak, and because it did not taste foul, he felt something of happiness again, despite everything that had happened.

  He looked at the waterskin at his side.

  A part of him feared that failure was still his destiny, so he did not reach for it.

  Supper had been a silent matter, and once everyone had cleared their bowls, the pot was empty.

  The page removed it from the fire and stoked the logs.

  Merlin rose.

  “Forgive me, Father, Aunt, but I must take my leave.”

  Megolin nodded.

  Merlin rose and walked away from the fire.

  All the horses had been tethered to the same tree and were chewing the greenery they’d found.

  Merlin walked past and to the carriage where Arthur was.

  Standing before the wagon, Merlin closed his eyes and went to Starhearth.

  “King Mergus!” He yelled.

  The ancient king and warlock appeared before him.

  His purple robes glowed blue, and his crown was a golden ring.

  He smiled at Merlin.

  “King Mergus,” Merlin bowed his head.

  “We are family, child. To you, I am Grandfather Mergus.”

  Merlin looked at him.

  This was the first time he had ever met him. The spirit who stood before him had lived three thousand years ago, fought battles long forgotten, and seen a time many called the golden age, and the dark age of Britannia.

  “There is much we have to talk about,” Mergus said. “But there are other things of greater importance that must be discussed.”

  “Yes. How is Arthur?”

  “We have not spoken to him yet.”

  Merlin stared at him. “Why?”

  “Telling one he is chosen for something never turns out well.” Mergus’ face was grim.

  “I thought so, but what makes you say that? If Arthu
r knew who he was, how important he is, he would return. Not telling him that hasn’t helped.”

  “Trust me, Merlin. He cannot know he is the chosen one.”

  “How else can you get him to understand?”

  Mergus looked at him. “He will have to think it’s not supposed to be him, but that he’s the only around who can.”

  “Why?”

  Mergus eyed him. “Your father never told you?”

  “No.”

  Mergus considered for a moment. “Three thousand years ago,” he said, “Britannia was at war. King Jon of Rodwin had declared himself King of the Isle and set out from his castle to accept the fealty of the kings. At the time, his people were the best warriors, and their fleet was the greatest the Isle had ever seen.”

  –

  As Mergus spoke, a vision unfolded before Merlin.

  A great crowd of people had gathered before the Grand Palace.

  Dizzying marble pillars rose up high, supporting a gilded roof with an iron spike that rose higher still.

  The surrounding buildings were almost as rich. Each door was crested with the iron spike of the House of Hyron, each porch littered with fresh rushes, and each column white marble.

  The balconies were all manned by the lord’s guards, though now their attire was golden plate and scale armor. Their cloaks were white, and their helms boasted iron spikes.

  Watching from their nests, they kept a lookout for possible threats amidst the crowd that had gathered to hear their king’s words.

  The entire city, essentially, was now standing before the marble steps to the palace.

  They cheered as kites sailed the sky, singers sang, and musicians played.

  No one knew why the king had called for such a meeting, but one never said no to the chance to meet their leader.

  A herald ascended the steps and stood before the doors to the palace.

  The musicians stopped and silence settled on the palace grounds.

  “Royal subjects! Esteemed nobles! You have all been gathered here for a declaration that King Jon wishes to make! Here he is, now.”

  The herald moved aside, and the doors opened to reveal the king.

  His golden crown shone as he emerged from the palace, his golden cloak trailing behind as his retinue of guards walked beside him.

  He wore golden armor, rings, and a diamond necklace, and his greatsword shone with rubies and gemstones.

  His eyes were a cold blue, but he always looked upon his people with care.

  “My friends!” He shouted. “Today is an auspicious day! This great kingdom, the heart of maritime trade and the owners of the greatest fleet the world has ever seen, richer than all the others, wiser than all the others, is destined for greatness!” The people cheered, and then he raised his hand for silence.

  “This kingdom is great, but is this it? Is this enough? Is a few ships and a few cities really all that there is? Or is there more? More that ought to be ours? For thousands of years, the kingdoms of the Isle have been allies and enemies. And no one but us have been able to rise thanks to these wars. And now we are capable of defeating any attack. No army has reached the gates of this city for a thousand years. Other kingdoms are forming alliances with us. The Isle is rallying to our side because we are the heart of the Isle. We are the greatest power. But there are still those who remain aloof. There are still those who seek power themselves, and those who wish to remain distant. That cannot be allowed. A nation is about unity. And if there is a group of people who are not with us, they are our enemies. So, I have decided that all those loyal to me and those who will swear allegiance, will live as subjects of a mighty empire. Crops will never suffer again. Farmers will never worry about supper. Soldiers won’t have to always be posted somewhere. Wars can stop. Unity can be. But those who refuse to join me will suffer fire and steel. I am a just king. The just will benefit, and the unworthy will fall.”

  A great cheer erupted, and Jon smiled.

  “I hereby declare this kingdom an empire, the rightful seat of the Isle, and its people, the rightful owners of the Isle. All our armies and all our ships will deploy. Emissaries will be sent to the nations who have not yet sworn allegiance, and those who have will ready their soldiers for war. A new age is upon us. An age of unity, an age of peace, and the age of emperors!”

  13

  From Beyond

  In Starhearth

  "Arthur," Fergus said.

  Arthur turned to see him. “Who are you?”

  “A friend,” he said. “I am Raylon Fergus, the first of my clan to be king of the Highlands.”

  Arthur looked at him.

  “You’re the first King Fergus?”

  “Aye. Before me there was one named Ergar. He was a wise fellow, kind and just. He was the greatest king the North ever saw.”

  His voice was sad, Arthur noted. “What happened to him?”

  “He died, trying to attain something none of us can.”

  “What?”

  “Power the gods do not mean for us to wield.”

  Arthur looked at him.

  “Why are you talking to me?”

  Fergus eyed him.

  “Your father met with me and the ancient King Mergus of Demetia.”

  “My father?”

  “Aye. A good man, he is. And weary for you. “

  “You’re here to convince to go back, aren’t you?”

  “No. I’m here to tell you the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “The truth of the Isle.”

  Arthur didn’t say anything.

  “Three thousand years ago,” Fergus said, “King Jon of the greatest maritime realm the Isle had ever seen, with a fleet of a thousand ships and an army of fifty thousand, decided it was time for his people, for himself, to ascend to a greater tier of government. Jon believed it was time for the isle to unite. But his dream was not as great as you might think. He cared not for the unity or the peace of the Isle. He cared only about his own power. As sole ruler of Britannia, he would have been the most powerful man who ever lived. Britannia was once greater than Rome ever was. Our fields yielded crops enough that no town would ever starve. There were enough trees to build a thousand cities, and enough gold to enrich one for lifetimes.

  “Of course, unity was something that the Isle wished for, but unity could not be acquired at the hands of Jon. His people saw him as a friend, and those who allied with him were greedy, or trying to save their own people. But the north recognized the evil of that man before the war even started. But he had never done anything wrong, so we could not accuse him.

  “When King Jon declared himself emperor and rallied his allies, I was General of Caledonia. The Highlands were defended by fifty thousand soldiers, but Jon had a hundred, thanks to his allies.

  “The war arrived at Pittentrail three months after King Jon declared himself emperor. A hundred thousand soldiers besieged Pittentrail. After a week of fighting, King Ergar ordered me to prepare the city to flee, while he went north to the frozen wastelands. Emissaries from even Jon’s court, from Demetia, and from a number of the kingdoms that had sworn allegiance to Jon, went with him, even the castellan of Jon’s capital, who had realized his king had lost his way. By this point, Prince Mergus’ father had decided to join the north, and was sending his son to Pittentrail with ten thousand men to help.

  “Ergar returned with the spell-forged weapon, Excalibur. The weapon cannot be wielded by anyone not considered worthy by the Isle.”

  Arthur was listening, and all his troubles seemed to have disappeared.

  “The blade shone, Arthur, like a torch. And with it, King Ergar returned to Pittentrail and attacked the host of soldiers encamped outside his gates. But fortune did not yet mean for this moment to be when the unjust Emperor Jon would fall and when freedom would prevail. King Ergar was slain, cut d
own by Jon himself. I led our people secretly out of the city, and met up with Prince Mergyle, who was also retreating from the battlefield.”

  “And then you ascended the throne?”

  “Not yet,” Fergus said. “But I think that’s enough for one day.”

  Arthur thought for a moment. “What does this have to do with me?”

  Fergus looked at him. “You will know,” he said. “I cannot tell you. That will only make things worse.”

  “So, I still have a future?”

  “Aye.”

  Arthur shook his head. “How could I have a future? I’m here. And when I was alive, I failed.”

  “What we do, alive or not, does affect those who are still alive. Trust me, Arthur, there is much you do not yet know. Now, pray forgive me. I must take my leave.”

  Arthur didn’t say anything as Fergus disappeared and left him standing there.

  Merlin reappeared a moment later.

  “We were both told the same thing,” he said.

  Arthur looked at him.

  “What does it mean?”

  “It’s about the future of the Isle.”

  14

  Defense of Land's End

  On the Road to the Capital of Land's End

  Dawn arrived with a sky that threatened rain, but the storm still looked several hours away, so they would be able to get to the capital before the worst of the rains fell.“

  They had no time to waste, so Megolin agreed, and so now they were cantering west, to the sound of leather traces snapping on the horses pulling the carriage.

  Merlin was starting to feel better since Arthur’s demeanor was now changing.

  At midday, when they stopped to water the horses, Merlin drank some water again. The foul taste was there, albeit less. That was enough.

  They saddled up again, and by afternoon, a light drizzle began to fall. With it, the winds broke branches and twigs from the trees and kicked up the autumn leaves that blanketed the ground.

  Merlin’s cloak snapped and swirled as the wind howled.

  There was a town nearby with about a hundred shops and houses and a few watchtowers. Merlin thought they might stop here, but the page said that they could still get to Trevena. If they tried to wait out the storm, they would only be able to leave three days hence. Autumn storms were never a friend to the rushed traveler. So Megolin decided they go on, and Merlin cantered past the town with a heavy heart. But he knew what had to be done and realized that that town too would be torched if Arthur did not return and if the Isle did not defeat the Huns.