A silence passed between the two men. Wyn was regaining his composure and Mathias was too shaken by far to intrude on his thoughts. Eventually, the old man raised his head once more and a sad smile flickered onto his face.
‘I had hoped for more time,’ he said. ‘I had too much faith in my own power and wanted to spare you this knowledge as long as possible. I have... been remiss. There is so much that I have not told you. So much that I should have told you.’
‘I do not understand, Wyn.’
‘No. You don’t. And that is my fault. The truth of the matter is that Melusine’s pact, seeded with Richard all those years ago, is on the cusp of bearing fruit. Evil comes to this world, my boy. Real evil, the likes of which man cannot begin to understand. It has to be stopped.’
Mathias laughed without humour. ‘You are surely not expecting me to... don’t be silly, old man. I am not some kind of great warrior or magus...’
Wyn shook his head.
‘You are a quiet champion, my boy. The most worthy kind.’ When Mathias simply looked confused, Wyn patted the boy’s shoulder with great affection. ‘I have great power. You know that now. But I am old. Too old now to protect you from what is coming. I chose you a long time ago, for a reason, but we must act fast. Now that Melusine has found me, the Inquisition will be coming.’
‘But...’ Mathias saw the expression on Wyn’s face and knew that asking any further questions at this point would be a waste of time.
Hampton Court
England
‘RICHARD, WAKE UP.’
Anna shook him vigorously, and as the King’s eyes opened, he reached out as though he would claw at her face. She ducked his attack and held her distance until her husband’s senses restored themselves. He gasped loudly and sat upright. Sweat rolled from him in steady rivulets.
‘Another dream?’ Her voice was filled with genuine concern and sympathy. She reached over and stroked back a lock of greying hair that had fallen into his eyes. He slapped her hand irritably and nodded.
‘Was it her again?’
Still the King did not speak. The dream had been too personal to share. He stared at his wife for long moments, then waved a hand. ‘Bring me wine,’ he ordered. When she didn’t move straight away, his imperious tone became something entirely more demanding. ‘Go! Now! And send for the seer. I must speak with him.’
‘The seer?’ The distaste in Anna’s voice made Richard look at her sharply. He knew that she, like many of the nobility, thought it deeply hypocritical that the King should keep a magus in the employ of the court. But he did not care to listen to whispers of accusation. Josef was little more than a madman, but he had his uses.
He roared at Anna. ‘I said now!’
She scurried away, casting a glance over her shoulder to the King in his bed, his head buried in his hands. Yes, it had been another dream. More to the point, it had been the same dream that had woken him every night this past week. Richard knew that there was no way he could ignore it. Not any more.
JOSEF WAS ONLY in his twenties, but his wasted body, and the loss of most of his teeth, made him look much older. He was brought before the King, who was now clad in a night robe trimmed with finest ermine. Shackles were bound about the seer’s hands and hobbles stopped him from moving at any great speed. He abased himself before the King, and looked up as Richard spoke.
‘I dreamed,’ he said. ‘You will help me understand the revelations.’ ‘I live to serve, my King.’ Josef giggled inanely and Richard glowered. He hated the creature, hated him with a passion, but he needed him to make sense of the dreams that plagued him. He relayed the words of the woman who haunted his sleep, carefully omitting details of her identity. For six nights now she had come to him, stirring his rage, his lust, and his desires. For six nights he had dismissed her. But the raw power of last night’s vision could not be denied. He needed to untangle his thoughts.
‘She told me that the Vessel is ready.’
Josef cackled and clapped his hands like a delighted child. Richard felt an overwhelming urge to choke the infernal creature. The seer continued to cackle for a little longer, rolling around the floor, and then rose up to his knees. He lifted his bound hands, the chains clinking in emphasis.
‘The Vessel comes, Richard Plantagenet? Why, it’s your son. Your first-born. So pure. So pure! Anybody can see if they have eyes to see it! He comes of age in a few months, and she comes to claim her long-awaited prize. The time is coming for the line of kings to pay the debt of their rule.’
Richard’s mouth went dry and he stared at the seer. His eldest son, his namesake. His heir. A boy he loved with every beat of his heart and with every breath in his body. He would be damned before he turned him over to anybody.
‘It is clear to me, your majesty,’ Josef said, his sing-song voice grating on every nerve in Richard’s body. ‘She has given you her power and whispered her secrets into your ear, and now she wants what is hers!’
‘No,’ said Richard. ‘No. There must be some other way.’ ‘She is a demon, a creature of magic and deceit. You are bound to her as she is bound to you, you cannot escape such a thing.’ Josef shrugged. ‘Unless the Inquisitors have wiped out all magic in the realm.’ The seer prodded experimentally at himself for a few seconds, then giggled to himself. ‘No, they haven’t!’
Richard got to his feet and moved to the window. ‘There must be some other way,’ he repeated. ‘I need you to find me an answer.’ He glared at Josef. ‘I will not give her my son.’
‘It seems to me,’ said the seer, ‘that if you want to rid yourself of a magical threat, you get rid of all the magical... things.’ He waved a hand, struggling to find the word he wanted to use.
‘The magi? The Inquisition... yes. Yes.’ Richard’s hand curled into a fist. ‘I will have them work harder. We must purge the taint of magic still lingering in this country. If there is no magic, then she cannot be summoned. My son will be safe.’
He pulled a slim knife from beneath his robes and advanced on the cackling seer. ‘If I must slay every magus with my own hand then it will be so.’ The King glared down at the maniacal seer. ‘Starting with you.’
Cwm Heddychol
Wales
BRING TAGAN. MEET me at the Circle.
The instruction had been simple, and still reeling from the things Wyn had revealed to him, Mathias had considered disobedience. But he was a good man and a loyal son, even if he was not truly of Wyn’s blood.
The Circle lay beyond the village borders, on one of the windswept hilltops overlooking the valley. There it was that weddings were held, and last words were spoken of the dead. It was nothing more than a rough circle of flattened grass surrounded by innocuous rocks of varying shape and size. The view from the top on a clear day was spectacular, the rolling crags and valleys of South Wales stretching away in every direction. This evening it was far from clear. The distant storm had closed in, gusting around the hilltop and driving a thin drizzle before it. Mathias approached the Circle, Tagan’s hand in his.
He had collected her from the forge, to her father’s great disapproval. When he mentioned they were going to the Circle at Wyn’s behest, the blacksmith had merely nodded. His eyes flitted between Mathias and his daughter.
‘Take care of her, Eynon,’ was all the taciturn man said, and it seemed unnecessarily final to Mathias’s ears.
I’m imagining things.
Wyn’s story had shaken him far more than he realised. As he and Tagan walked from the village to the Circle, she had not asked him a single question. His serious manner and quiet demeanour had been enough for her to comply with his request.
He looked sideways at her. She was only an inch or so shorter than he was, and usually she walked close to him, their shoulders touching. Today, however, she was keeping a slight distance. Mathias knew exactly why this was. They were heading to a meeting with six of the most revered members of the village, and her father frequently told her that her open familiarity with Mathias was
behaviour unbecoming of a young woman.
When she spoke, it broke the silence alarmingly.
‘Are you marrying me?’
Tagan’s question shook some of the darkness from the corners of his thoughts and he glanced at her with a quick, nervous smile. ‘Of course, my love,’ he replied quietly. ‘Only I hadn’t exactly planned to do it this evening.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Because I’m hardly dressed for it.’ Her smithing apron had been removed and she wore a simple linen shift. ‘My wedding dress is still in pieces on my father’s floor.’ She was nervous, he realised, talking about inane things to calm herself, and he gave her hand an experimental squeeze. I am here, he hoped to convey. Don’t be afraid.
In response, she squeezed his hand back. It made him feel better. She smiled at him, the dimples in her cheeks making her even prettier than usual, and for a moment, all his own anxiety drained from him.
‘Mathias,’ she said in a tiny voice as they approached the Circle. ‘Mathias, why are they dressed like that?’
He looked where she pointed. There they were. Six figures, each seated on one of the flatter rocks lining the Circle. Wyn spotted them and raised a hand in greeting. He had changed into druidic robes, which was a startling enough sight, but as they climbed upwards, it slowly became apparent that all six of the elders were wearing similar outfits. Mathias had seen Wyn’s robes before. Usually, he wore them only for weddings and funerals, and other rites performed within the Circle.
‘Welcome and greetings, Mathias Eynon,’ said Wyn in the most formal tone the young man had ever heard him use. The old man’s eyes turned to Tagan and softened slightly. ‘And Tagan. Welcome and greetings to you also.’
‘Greetings and thank you, Elder,’ said Tagan formally, and she curtsied. The gesture surprised Mathias and he mumbled an echo of her response, dropping a respectful bow of his own. Wyn smiled at both of them, but there was not much joy in it.
‘We must discuss the defences of the village,’ he said. ‘In light of what I have told you, Mathias, we can expect the Inquisition here soon. As such, we need to invoke powerful, ancient magic. We need your help. Both of you.’
There was a grumble of thunder as if in response to Wyn’s ominous words, and the sound echoed around the valley. Mathias’s fingers remained locked with Tagan’s, and the two young people exchanged glances.
‘You are owed explanation,’ said Wyn. ‘And it will come. For now, though, please. You must assist us.’
‘Of course, Elder.’ It was Tagan who spoke and Mathias felt a creeping shame as she did so. ‘What must we do?’
‘Step inside the Circle,’ said the old man, his eyes on her. ‘We don’t have much time.’
The road to London
England
THE JOURNEY BACK from the village was, by necessity, much slower. A ragged chain of children and a few surviving men and woman followed Weaver’s mercenary band, their hands and feet shackled. They had done with sobbing and pleading, now, and simply trudged behind the horses in weary resignation, dull-eyed with horror at the fate that awaited them.
The rain had caught up with them, a fine drizzle that quickly soaked to the skin and turned the ground into a quagmire. Seated on his horse at the head of the miserable procession, Weaver was supremely indifferent to these facts as he quietly pondered where the next raids should be targeted. With the influx of men, the Inquisition would be able to push deeper into the valleys than had previously been possible.
The pain, when it came, was so shocking and unexpected the Inquisitor couldn’t even cry out. He arched his back, his mouth open in a silent scream of anguish as knowledge, bright and hard, seared itself directly into his brain. Emerald light danced beneath his mask and spilled from the eye holes, and his horse and those around him reared in sudden panic.
He suddenly knew, with absolute certainty, that on a hilltop to the west a group of magi were soon to perform a ritual. A ritual that absolutely had to be stopped, and he had until sundown before it would be too late.
The agony faded and Weaver felt the warmth of blood beneath his mask as it leaked from his nose. He shook his head and gasped, the absence of the pain as shockingly sweet as its arrival had been terrible. When it was obvious that the Inquisitor was not dead and that the incident had passed, one of the mercenaries dared to approach.
‘Are you all right, my lord?’ The big man’s question was hesitant. Weaver turned slowly in his saddle to stare directly at the speaker. ‘Pick five of the men to stay and escort the prisoners. The rest of you are with me. We ride west; there isn’t much time.’
‘My lord?’ The warrior wasn’t convinced that the Lord Inquisitor had not gone suddenly mad.
‘You heard me; go!’ The Lord Inquisitor was not entirely sure, but he believed he caught the lingering scent of jasmine, tinged with hot blood.
Cwm Heddychol
Wales
INSIDE THE CIRCLE, the air was shockingly calm. The wind rose, driving the rain in sheets across the hilltop, but Mathias and Tagan blinked in wonder as the storm roared its fury overhead yet failed to touch them. Wyn did not allow them to wonder for long.
‘Mathias, Tagan. I wish there was more time to explain what is about to happen. But you must believe me when I say what you are going to learn—over the next few weeks, months, maybe even years—is of the utmost importance. The fault lies heavily on my shoulders for not speaking to you about this sooner. I had... hopes, I suppose. Hopes that the Vessel would not be forthcoming during your lifetime.’ Wyn sighed. ‘I was wrong.’
Around the Circle, the five other magi were murmuring in soft voices as they drew strange, angular symbols on their rocks using coal and chalk. Tagan watched them whilst Wyn spoke, and then leaned into Mathias.
‘Do you understand what they are doing?’ Her voice was a harsh whisper. The young couple were standing in the centre of the Circle, as directed by Wyn. They had not let go of each other’s hands the whole time. Mathias, his eyes very firmly fixed on his adoptive father, shook his head slowly.
‘Only that it is great magic, and I’ve never seen it before.’
THE KNOWLEDGE BURNED in Weaver’s mind like a brand, a terrible certainty that if he did not reach the village of the magi before sundown, he would be too late.
Hooves thundered across the ground, saliva flew from the mouths of twenty panting, snorting horses that were being ridden to the very edge of endurance. The men atop them drove them harder, switching at the flanks with crops and digging their heels in. The Lord Inquisitor had made it clear that they would kill the horses if necessary, and none of the mercenaries had argued. It was unwise to argue with Charles Weaver.
They had entered the valleys an hour earlier. Their objective was within reach, but five of their number had already been lost to the mad dash. Two horses had collapsed, their riders left behind, while three more had been killed when their steeds had stepped badly in the rain and rugged terrain. Weaver didn’t care as long as he made it with enough men to do the job.
Time was slipping away. Acutely conscious of the vital importance of their task and not wishing to draw Weaver’s ire, they rode west toward the darkening hills.
‘SIT DOWN, MATHIAS.’ Wyn made a vague gesture with his right hand and Mathias could feel the magical compulsion to sit come across him. Uncharacteristically, he attempted to resist, suddenly feeling rebellious. It was about as effective as a mouse pressing against a boulder, and he felt his knees buckle before he sat down, hard, on the flattened grass of the Circle. The bump startled him and he blinked in hurt surprise at Wyn.
‘You too, Tagan.’ Wyn’s tone was kinder to the young woman, and she made the choice to do as the old man said. ‘I’m sorry, both of you. I had hoped that this burden would not fall to you. I have grown fonder of you, Mathias, than I should have done, and sought to shield you from the danger that now bears down on us.’
‘You told me about the demon,’ Mathias said. ‘Melusine. Does this have something to do with h
er?’ Tagan gasped at the word ‘demon’ and made a warding gesture across her chest.
‘It has everything to do with her.’
‘I still don’t understand.’ Mathias shook his head. He could sense that Wyn was afraid, and that, more than anything, filled him with dread. ‘What is it that you expect me to do?’
‘Time is running out, Wyn.’ One of the magi spoke in a low, urgent voice. ‘We must perform the sending now. While we still can.’
‘Mathias, Tagan, listen to me.’ Wyn took a hurried step towards the couple in the Circle. ‘We are going to use the power of the Circle to send you to one who can help. Find him, you will find them all. You will need their power.’
‘I...’
‘...don’t understand. I know that. But mark these names well. The Shapeshifter. She Who Sees. The Pirate King. The Wanderer. Seek out the Shapeshifter, Mathias. His power is as yours. Earth calls to earth. Remember that, my boy: earth calls to earth. You will find him. I know you will.’
‘Wyn!’ Mathias caught at the old man’s hand as he made to step backwards. Wyn hesitated, then touched the back of his free hand to Mathias’s cheek.
‘If I had been granted a son,’ he said, ‘I could not have been prouder. Now close your eyes. It will make the sending easier for you. For both of you.’
‘What is the...’
‘Close your eyes!’ The roar in Wyn’s voice was loaded with terrible power, and light blazed from his eyes.
THE HORSES COULD run no further. Their riders dismounted and made the rest of the journey on foot. To the west, the storm had swallowed the light. It was impossible to tell, through the gloom and driving rain, if the sun had set or not. It was barely possible to know which way was up and which was down. Their goal was minutes away.
Heirs of the Demon King: Uprising Page 8
