Post by James on Dec 11, 2008 1:39:43 GMT -5
Prologue
The clear summer night sky twinkled with stars above the town of Camel, illuminating the pride and joy of the kingdom of Dumnonia. The town was sleeping peacefully, blacksmiths having gone home and markets closed for the night, only the sound of the occasional drunken laugh puncturing the otherwise silent night. Watching over the town was the King’s castle, its residents also asleep or resting after a hard day of work. However, dotted around upon the outer walls of the town were guard houses, little pinpricks of candle light revealing that a few people were still awake and guarding its inhabitants.
“What is the point of this?” a guardsman said from within one of these small guard houses. “We haven’t manned all of these since the departure of the Romans and suddenly every guard is forced here each night to watch for some invisible enemy.”
“Leave nothing to risk these days, Ceanatis,” replied the other guard within the post. “King Constantine is only protecting the kingdom. After all, any fellow King could try to seize Dumnonia without a hint of warning and it doesn’t help now that Vortigern disappeared mysteriously a few weeks ago.”
“It wasn’t mysteriously at all, Loegaire; I was there when it happened. The King had just ordered for a few unsavoury men to be imprisoned, I mean these guys looked rough and straight out of some Germanic tribe. And Vortigern almost ordered the King to let them free, and you know Constantine and his pride. He banished Vortigern from Dunmonia without hesitation, banished his own advisor like that; it just proves that he’s not all right up there,” Ceanatis said, tapping his head at the comment.
“Don’t speak ill of King Constantine or you could be finding your head rolling in a basket,” Loegaire said calmly, knowing that the penalty for treason or sedition was particular fierce at the moment. “Anyway, the King’s fine…”
“He’s not fine, alright Loegaire?” Ceanatis interrupted quickly. “He used to be fine, he used to be a man I would fight and die for, a great King, but he isn’t anymore. Listen friend, I used to work as a guard in the King’s Court until I was moved out to watch duty here. The King is in the throes of madness, he talks to people who are not there, he orders for the craziest things and he has completely forgotten his own two sons. He’s not fine. And at least Vortigern was keeping the kingdom together, now I fear for the kingdom and my family.”
“Vortigern isn’t his only advisor, Merlin is an intelligent man, he shall aid the King during these times,” Loegaire said, moving to the window to get back to his task of keeping watch. The guard stared across the fertile fields and hills that surrounded Camel but saw nothing in the darkness that suggested anything worrisome.
“A wizard, a conjurer, a trickster shall aid the King in these dark times? Are you as mad as King Constantine?” Ceanatis asked incredulously.
Loegaire gave a sigh, still staring out at across the fields watching for anything that was even remotely interested. Internally he agreed with Ceanatis, there was no point being out here on guard, there was no threat to the town but he would never tell Ceanatis that. “You dislike him solely because of your religion, your God doesn’t allow for magicians to run around solving problems. Therefore he must be a fake, a trickster? What if my religion didn’t allow a single God to run around, would he then be fake?”
“That’s heresy,” Ceanatis breathed. “I should turn you over to the King right now, speaking against that of God.”
Ceanatis arose from his chair, his hand coming to rest dangerously close to the scabbard of his blade. Loegaire himself, turned away from the window and he too let his hand wandered down to his blade. He was never going to attack Ceanatis, however he couldn’t be sure if the feeling would be returned and he had to be prepared to defend himself from an attack.
“So willing to go to the King now?” Loegaire asked, standing just a few inches away from Ceanatis. “I thought he was mad, not all right in the head if I recall you saying?”
“He’ll still recognise a heretic when he sees one,” Ceanatis said strongly.
“Then he won’t recognise me, for I am not a heretic, Ceanatis. I am just a simple pagan, as are many in this country. I for one like to retain my Brythonic culture unlike some,” Loegaire said, coldly. “I know you have embraced your Roman culture, and new Roman religion, but not me. My family are merely simple calf herders, who just worked hard and kept their nose down through Roman rule, I was hoping with the fall of Rome approaching, a British leader would arise, perhaps Lord Geraint.”
“Paganism, wouldn’t your gods have had protected your druids during the Roman invasion? And anyway Britain had no culture before Rome, only farmers and tribal warfare, no culture,” Ceanatis retorted bitterly.
“Some say that they have, you know? And some say that Merlin is not only a wizard, but the last of the druids, sent to protect Britain. That is why he would make a good advisor to the King,” Loegaire said, turning away from Ceanatis again, hoping that his fellow guard wouldn’t take advantage of his trust. “Perhaps you should go home, you clearly don’t want to be here and I’m not too fond of your company, just go and get some sleep. One set of eyes can man this post.”
However before either man could say another word, the door of the guard house opened and in walked a tall commanding figure. He stood at least six feet tall, linen clothing just visible under iron armour and at his waist was a single well-crafted sword. His face was youthful with bright blue eyes staring at the two within the guard house, his red hair wild looking, freed from the helmet that was currently tucked under his arm.
“Lord Geraint!” both guards said, standing to attention.
“At ease,” Geraint said, waving his hand down to gesture taking a seat. “I’ve just been making a quick patrol on all the guard houses on request of King Constantine and you are my last. Any sign of trouble?”
“None at all, my lord,” Loegaire answered quickly, still standing.
“Not that we were expecting any,” Ceanatis said coolly, dropping back down into a seat. “Be honest Sir, are you expecting any monsters to attack us from the dark?”
Ceanatis’ joke brought a chuckle from everyone, even Loegaire, before Geraint, taking a seat, answered him. “I don’t think anyone but the King is expecting an attack to be honest, although Merlin seems concern about Vortigern’s departure, and if Merlin is concerned then so am I. The wizard is rarely wrong when it comes to predicting the future, so I’m willing to up security of Camel for a while. In all realities though, what can happen? No one is strong enough to attack us now, are they?”
“Exactly! What I’ve been trying to tell old Loegaire here for the entire night. Dumnonia is the strongest of the kingdoms so an attack would not come from a fellow kingdom and what is Vortigern going to do, huh? Nothing, that’s what. This whole nighttime sentry is pointless and it’s about time Constantine orders it to stop,” Ceanatis said strongly, grabbing an apple from a barrel and crunching into it.
“I think that the King even has the slightest fear, he should do what is best to protect his people. Don’t you agree soldier?” Geraint said, turning to look back at the guard who still stood at the window. However Loegaire didn’t turn from the window, his hands pale as they gripped tightly onto the ledge of the window. “Soldier, what’s wrong?”
Loegaire moved away from the window and the reason for the fear apparent in his eyes was easily seen. Dotted across the fields surrounding Camel was large pricks of flames from torches as a large black mass of figures charged down from all direction, all of them heading toward Camel. It was easily seen even from the guard house that all were armed and all were ready for battle.
Without even a word to the others, Loegaire leapt across the table, clearing it in one, and bounded out of the room. He had to sound the alarm, the attackers could be at the gate in a matter of moments. Already he could hear the thundering sound of the army charging down towards Camel just as one of the large gongs upon the wall came into view. Grabbing the first mallet he could reach Loegaire brought the tool down hard upon the gong, a loud reverberating sound echoing through the town, waking nearly everyone. The sound of the invaders slamming against the gate was drowned out as Loegaire brought the mallet down for a second time.
***
Merlin silently moved down the halls of the castle out toward the stables, his large body buried within his long traveling cloak. He had to leave in secret and quickly before anyone saw him, for if he was seen he would surely be asked to stay, something which he could not currently do. The banishment of Vortigern and Constantine’s descent into madness had caused Merlin serious concerns, the least of them how to be Constantine’s advisor and continue to hunt the malevolent faeries that plagued Britain. He wasn’t confident that he could do both properly at the same time, certain hunts had been known to go for months and deep into the territories of such barbarians like the Picts.
However this hunt could not wait, the premonition had come to him last night over dinner and it was a serious one. It showed the young Prince of Cameliard, the focus of attention for a group of local pixies; it ended with the prince being poisoned by the faeries and a shape shifter emerging from the shadows. The vision couldn’t come to pass for a faerie king, would utterly destroy the political balance of Britain and send it twirling down into civil war. Nevertheless it wasn’t the only premonition that was troubling him currently, another which often reoccurred told a particularly worrisome story. Merlin saw himself with the two princes, several guards and a boy who looked strangely familiar, fleeing down a dark and wet passageway from some unseen danger. With the disappearance of Vortigern and the arrival of several Germanic scouts the vision worried him but there was nothing he could do at this moment, all he could do was wait for another clue.
The guard at the entrance to the stables didn’t see him at all as he slipped into the building, his magic covering his passage pass the guard. He wasn’t invisible and if the guard had looked closer he would have seen Merlin. For Merlin’s appearance was unlikely to be confused with someone else’s. He was tall and lean, six and a half feet tall; his body wasn’t particularly muscled but in fact rather slender. His clean shaven face and bright green eyes, gave a sense of a man who knew more than any other and his dark brown hair, seemed to gleam slightly more than natural.
His feet crunched softly upon the hay strewn floor, his eyes traveling over each horse as he walked toward the end of the stables. Horses weren’t quite as numerous as they were during Roman occupation but wild horses still lived in Britain and were still domesticated for human use along with breeding already domesticated horses, which met the demand for them. At the very end of the stables was the horse Merlin was looking for, a grey mare called Braith.
She was an old horse, but very reliable and had been with Merlin on many faeries’ hunts. Most importantly she was not easily startled by magic unlike most of the other horses in the stables; she was a stoic creature like himself. Her grey coat was uneven, changing in brightness across her body and her left eye was slightly drooped, and yet she was still the best of Constantine’s horses. Merlin moved over to the wall where a saddle and breastplate were waiting, taking them in his hands, he moved backed over to the horse giving her side a settling pat.
“Come on then, girl,” Merlin said, his voice low and deep however it also had a calming sensation to it. “We have another trip ahead of us, should only be a short one though.” Braith merely stayed silence, lowering herself slightly to make it easier for Merlin to attach the saddle easier. It only took a few minutes for Braith to be prepared for the trip and Merlin began to lead her out of the stables when he her the first strike of the gong.
At first Merlin thought he had imagined the sound, after all he had been overly paranoid since Vortigern’s left, maybe his tired mind was playing tricks upon him but then he heard it unmistakably a second time. Taking a strong grip upon the saddle, Merlin leapt onto Braith nimbly, landing upon the saddle ready to ride. A quick kick at the thighs spurred Braith into a canter out of the stables, rushing past the now guard less doors. Already peasants were rushing from their homes, valuable items clasped in their hands as they raced towards the castle, guards guiding them through the opening gate. Many men were also rushing out of the castle and towards the front gates, weapons in hand as they charged towards flames that were beginning to flicker in the darkness to the north, where the main gate was situated. Fearful of an attack from perhaps an unsavoury force Merlin broke Braith out into a gallop and rushed down the path following the guards seeking to defend their people.
“Merlin! Merlin!” called a voice, Merlin reigning in Braith immediately to see Lord Geraint running towards him from the gate, his red hair flying behind him.
“Geraint! What’s going on? What is happening?” Merlin asked as he leapt from Braith as Geraint reached him.
“We’re under attack,” Geraint said, stating the obvious from the way his sword was already drenched in blood. “Not just any attack though, Merlin. This is an invasion, there so many of them; they outnumber us at least five to one and most likely ten. They’re no British men either; these are barbaric and big men.”
“Saxons,” Merlin breathed the word like a curse.
“Merlin,” Geraint said his face paler with fear. “They’re commanded by two of the largest men I have ever seen, but those two are commanded by someone else. My men have identified that Vortigern is at the rear bellowing orders from atop his steed. This is his army, Merlin.”
Merlin’s mind whirled from the news, that Vortigern had actually rallied an army was a staggering thought. He must have been planning it for months, Merlin thought, staring at the burning gate. And then the prisoners came to the forefront of Merlin’s mind, of course they must have been scouts of the army and that was why Vortigern wanted them freed so urgently. Why hadn’t he seen this? And then it struck him, he had! The vision of him and the boys escaping through the passageway from some unknown danger, he saw it clearly now in front of him; it was a vision of tonight.
“Geraint!” Merlin yelled above the roars of battle urgently. “Where are the Princes?”
“In the castle in their room,” Geraint replied, surprised etched across his face at the question. “I had some guards placed at their door to protect them, there’s not much else I can do…”
“No we can use the drainage tunnel that lead out of the castle from the baths and into the sea, they’re not very stable and in fact quite dangerous, but it’s safer than this. I got to get the boys out of here, I’ll use the tunnel and take them to the sea and get them away from here. Keep them safe, for if we don’t Vortigern will have them killed,” Merlin said, readying himself to leap back onto Braith’s back.
“Merlin,” Geraint called, grabbing hold of Merlin leg to hold him in place. “Listen, my son is with them, Gorlois. Take him with you through the tunnel, and then tell him to get back to Tintagel. Meanwhile you can take the Princes south and across the sea, my cousin is Duke of Brittany, and he shall keep the boys safe.”
Merlin nodded, before giving a roar and breaking Braith out into a gallop, her head bent down low as she thundered up the path and up towards the castle. A few guard vaguely tried to call out to Merlin and even more dived out of the way of the horse as it rode straight into the keep without stopping before Merlin brought her around sharply to turn left down a long corridor. Windows and doors flew past him, exquisite Roman artwork teething dangerously upon their stands as Braith galloped pass, the faint sound of battle in the distant. Merlin guided Braith with care, leading her up the quickest and easiest routes to the princes’ room.
“Kill the prisoners! Kill them all! No one shall survive, no one shall live! Let them all die, if I am to die,” came King Constantine’s voice from somewhere above.
“Not now,” Merlin muttered, reigning Braith in to come to a halt. He could still hear the King’s yelling, that this was God’s work to punish such disloyal subjects, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where the King was. Deciding that he didn’t have time to chase the King down, Merlin once again spurred Braith into a gallop nearing the princes’ room. Suddenly he rode headlong into a small contingency of guards, numbering at least ten and all prepared for an attack. Geraint was clearly taken no chance with the princes and his son, Merlin thought as he jumped from Braith, many of the guards saluting him as he landed upon the hard floor.
“Sir, what are you doing here?” asked Gorran, captain of the Royal Guard.
“Listen closely, I only have time to explain this once,” Merlin said, moving towards the guards. “The Saxons are attacking and the Princes and Lord Geraint’s sons must be moved to safety. Five of you shall accompany me with the boys as we move down through the drainage tunnel in the baths and out of Camel, Gorran you must come too for I have a further task for you once we escape. One of you are to take Braith here,” Merlin gave Braith a pat on her thigh as he said her name, “Down to Lord Geraint at the gates and tell him what is happening in the keep. The rest of you are to find and try to subdue the King before he does anymore damage, do I make myself clear?”
All the guards responded with a nod before beginning to carry out their orders, Gorran already unlocking the door to the room behind them. It was clear that the guards would not refuse a direct order from Merlin, in fact for the past few months, the advisors and Lords had more power over the military than King Constantine, perhaps that was why everything had gone wrong, Merlin thought. Perhaps only a strong King could control the chaos.
The door swung open to reveal three boys, all of varying ages and fearfulness. Prince Uther was only five years old, face wet from where tears had spilt as he heard the sounds of battle from below, his hand clasped tightly in that of his brother. Prince Aurelius was staring straight at Merlin, showing no sign of fear, his youthful face only resolute surrounded by blonde curls. Merlin often wondered if Aurelius was a man trapped in a child’s body.
Next to them, a sword unsheathed and ready to protect the Princes was a young boy, fourteen at the oldest, blight blue eyes and wild black hair instantly marking him as the other boy from Merlin’s vision. While not the same colour, Merlin noted, his wild hair undoubtedly made him Geraint’s son, Gorlois, which was why he seemed so familiar. The boy kept his sword raised for a moment before Merlin met his eyes and he instantly lowered it.
“Merlin, what is going on?” Aurelius asked quickly, his voice firm for a child. He moved forward, dragging Uther with him who refused to let go of his hand, so that he was by the doorway of the room. “Who is attacking? Is father safe?”
“I’m sorry Aurelius, I don’t have time to explain,” Merlin said, guiding the Princes out of the room and into the hallway. “All I can tell you we’re taking you out of the castle and to somewhere safe. We’re going to escape through the drainage tunnel in the baths, that’ll take us into safety but we have to go now.”
Uther burst into tears, Merlin distinctly hearing the word ‘daddy’ before Aurelius knelt down and comforted his younger brother quietly. The wizard turned to Gorlois, who was still lingering in the room unsure of what was happening to him, deciding to let Aurelius calm his brother Merlin entered the room and spoke to the boy.
“Your father has asked me for you to accompany us as we flee from the castle. There’s an exit that will leave you in the hills surrounding the castle. From there your father wants you to make your way to Tintagel, can you do that?” Merlin asked.
“I think so,” the boy said, his voice a cross between that of a man’s and that of a boy’s. “There’s an outpost only a few miles away west from there, I can walk to there and then I can ride the rest of the way. I’ll alert my mother and the guards back at Tintagel of a possible attack.”
Merlin nodded, a premonition rising to the front of his mind to do with Gorlois’ future, a beautiful red haired girl appearing in front of his eyes. However the wizard closed his mind and let the vision dissipate into smoke. It was rare for Merlin to not let a premonition take place, but he had no time to watch the future unfold with the present so precariously poised. Nodding to the guards who fell into step in a square around them, Merlin lightly guided Aurelius down the corridor by his shoulder.
The group walked in utter silent down the hallways, the sound of battle no longer at the gate but across the entire town, drawing closer to the castle. Cautiously turning a corner and down a flight of the stairs, Merlin took the least used halls of the castle, his magic slipping through cracks and down corridors checking for any signs of life. While at first comforting to the wizard, the lack of life in the castle began to worry him as they neared the final flight of stairs that would lead straight to the baths and to freedom.
“What’s that noise?” Uther suddenly said, sniffling; the thundering sound of feet fast approaching could be heard from down the corridor they just came.
“Men ready yourselves!” Gorran ordered, unsheathing his short sword that he had at his waist.
“No Gorran, this is not your battle. I can deal with whoever’s coming easily enough, just get down into the baths and I’ll meet you there,” Merlin said, striding back the way he came, the sound getting closer. “Quickly, before they see the princes,” Merlin hissed before taking a solid stance in the middle of the corridor.
The rest of the group just descended the stairs as the Saxons burst into view, turning into the corridor with weapons raised ready for battle. Merlin was momentarily taken aback by their appearances, big and stocky the Saxons were garbed in animal skins and equipped with crude axes, blood drenched across their bodies. For a moment they stood transfixed at the single figure that stood to oppose them before charging straight at the lone man. Merlin stood in perfect stillness before he outstretched his arms out on either side of his body and brought them together with a loud clap.
At first little balls of stone shot out from both sides of the hall, striking the Saxons like flies before far bigger lumps of stones flew inwards, one knocking a Saxon to the floor. There was a moment more as the Saxons neared before both walls on either side of the hall collapsed completely, burying the Saxons under a pile of debris and blocking their way to Merlin. Wind now flittered into the hall from the now gaping opening in the side of the castle from where Merlin’s attack had come from.
A groaning sound came from below Merlin; a single Saxon was upon the floor his leg crushed within the debris. Merlin surveyed the unkempt man for a moment before raising his hand once more. Green fire seeped from his hand like wisps of mist, descending upon the trapped Saxon who began to scream in agony as the fire burned away skin and flesh. Merlin carried on his relentless attack until the screaming stop and only a badly burned skeleton remained. Merlin remained long enough to hear the scurrying of feet fleeing from the other side of the makeshift wall before he turned and descended down the stairs to the baths behind him.
Merlin found the guards moving the circular stone that covered the drainage tunnel, ushering the boys and Gorran into the tunnel. Merlin quickly slipped through the gap before the guards let the stone roll back, leaving them in complete and utter darkness. Uther broke into tears once more before Merlin opened his palm to reveal a small ball of light, illuminating a small part of the tunnel. It was narrow, cold and wet from where the baths had been drained the day before.
“What now?” Gorran asked, watching Merlin in the limited light. The wizard’s face was slightly more drawn now than before the chase, his brow damp with sweat.
“We flee. This tunnel leads the entire way to the coast and to the Celtic Sea. From there we can find a ship of some sort and sails around the coast and onto Brittany, Geraint’s cousin shall keep the Princes safe. However Gorlois will leave us earlier, there’s a way out that leads into the hills surrounding Camel,” Merlin said, moving to the front as he began to guide the group through the tunnel.
***
“My lord, my men tell me that the princes you seek has escaped the city,” a monster of a man said entering the throne room. Over seven feet tall, scars etched across his face and eyes as black as night made many of the prisoners gathered in the throne room recoil in fear.
“I am displeased Hengist,” Vortigern replied, turning to face the leader of the Saxon army. Vortigern himself was a small sickly man, his face pale and his hair already wispy white giving the appearance of being far older than he already was. “How was it that a couple of children escaped your soldiers’ grasp?”
“Fay magic,” Hengist spat, his face even more grotesque at the mention of the word as he grimaced. “My men said a fay creature blocked the corridor the princes escaped down of with stone from the wall. They also said they heard screaming as one my cousins was killed by the creature.”
Vortigern turned abruptly back to face the throne. Merlin had beaten him to the princes, he would make sure that they were kept safe and eventually they would return for revenge. The thought left him with little confidence in the safety of his newly acquired crown, but a comforting thought was, with the Saxons as his sword the brothers could not touch him.
“And what of the prisoners, Horsa?” Vortigern said turning to face Hengist’ twin brother. “Are they safe?”
“Killed,” Horsa gruffly replied. “A guard told me that Constantine ordered for all prisoners to be killed when we attacked, every last one of them.”
Vortigern’s face contorted in anger, his palms shaking in fury as he slowly moved over to King Constantine who knelt in pray in front of his throne. Vortigern overlooked the old King standing just to his left, noticing the shaking hands of Constantine grasped within each other. His crown still atop his golden topped head, which was bowed as he spoke to God.
“Why did you have all the prisoners killed, my old friend,” Vortigern hissed, still merely shadowing the King.
“Some…someone must atone for your sins,” King Constantine stuttered. Vortigern’s face grew red before he kicked out at Constantine, connecting squarely in his ribs. The sound of bones breaking could be heard across the room as Constantine cried out in pain but refused to slump from his kneeling position. Vortigern circled Constantine like a wolf circling his prey, moving to Constantine’s other side before speaking again.
“And what about your sins, Constantine,” Vortigern spat, grabbing hold of Constantine’s hair and forcing him to face him, his crown rolling onto the floor. “What about the sins of the great Christian King Constantine? Who shall atone for your sins? You ruined lives, you are no better than anyone else here.”
“I only ever did what God asked,” Constantine answered, meeting Vortigern’s eyes. “I shall be greeted as a hero of the faith in heaven; you shall spend eternity in the fires of hell.”
Vortigern bit his lip as he took a tighter hold upon Constantine’s hair and flung his head down upon his throne, causing a large wound to appear across his forehead. Vortigern pulled back the King’s head to survey his handiwork before smashing him back into the throne, emitting screams from the prisoners who were witnessing the assault and a grunt of pain from the King. Vortigern however paid no heed and continued his attacks long after Constantine had stopped his grunts, each time lifting up the King’s face to survey the damage before slamming him back into the throne. It wasn’t until Constantine’s face was completely soaked in his own blood did Vortigern release the King, who slumped to the floor bleeding and dead.
Vortigern swiftly picked up the crown that lay upon the floor and placed it upon his head smugly, the Saxons stamping feet in victory understanding that they had accomplished their task.
“Anyone of Brythonic descent, step forward,” Vortigern said, addressing the prisoners. Many stepped forward, including Lord Geraint who fought till the very end before being overpowered. “You are free to leave. Return to your families and communities and spread the word. The end of Roman oppression is over forever and Vortigern is your High King of Britain. Serve me loyally and you shall be rewarded with land and freedom, betray me and you and your families shall suffer the same fate as King Constantine. If you agree to these terms, leave now.”
Vortigern was pleased to see that everyone who had stepped forward moved to leave, including Geraint. He knew that the threat of murdering their families would be enough for Geraint to lower his head in shame and accept his rule, Vortigern relished in the feeling. However many prisoners still remained, some breaking into tears as they realised what was about to happen to them. Let them ponder their fates a little longer, Vortigern thought turning back to the Saxons.
“Hengist and Horsa, you and your men have served me greatly in my time of need,” Vortigern said, bowing deeply towards the brothers. “And for this you will be rewarded. The Kingdom of Kent shall be yours to have however I ask you to help me search for Merlin, the fay creature.”
“It will be done, my lord,” Hengist said, bowing deeply his brother following suit.
“Good, then there’s only one more task I ask of you then for now,” Vortigern said, moving past Hengist and Horsa and toward the doors. “Slaughter them all,” he said gesturing at the prisoners. As he walked out of the throne room and out into the courtyard bathed in the morning sunlight Vortigern could still hear the screams of anguish as the flower of Roman nobility was weeded from Britain at last.
The clear summer night sky twinkled with stars above the town of Camel, illuminating the pride and joy of the kingdom of Dumnonia. The town was sleeping peacefully, blacksmiths having gone home and markets closed for the night, only the sound of the occasional drunken laugh puncturing the otherwise silent night. Watching over the town was the King’s castle, its residents also asleep or resting after a hard day of work. However, dotted around upon the outer walls of the town were guard houses, little pinpricks of candle light revealing that a few people were still awake and guarding its inhabitants.
“What is the point of this?” a guardsman said from within one of these small guard houses. “We haven’t manned all of these since the departure of the Romans and suddenly every guard is forced here each night to watch for some invisible enemy.”
“Leave nothing to risk these days, Ceanatis,” replied the other guard within the post. “King Constantine is only protecting the kingdom. After all, any fellow King could try to seize Dumnonia without a hint of warning and it doesn’t help now that Vortigern disappeared mysteriously a few weeks ago.”
“It wasn’t mysteriously at all, Loegaire; I was there when it happened. The King had just ordered for a few unsavoury men to be imprisoned, I mean these guys looked rough and straight out of some Germanic tribe. And Vortigern almost ordered the King to let them free, and you know Constantine and his pride. He banished Vortigern from Dunmonia without hesitation, banished his own advisor like that; it just proves that he’s not all right up there,” Ceanatis said, tapping his head at the comment.
“Don’t speak ill of King Constantine or you could be finding your head rolling in a basket,” Loegaire said calmly, knowing that the penalty for treason or sedition was particular fierce at the moment. “Anyway, the King’s fine…”
“He’s not fine, alright Loegaire?” Ceanatis interrupted quickly. “He used to be fine, he used to be a man I would fight and die for, a great King, but he isn’t anymore. Listen friend, I used to work as a guard in the King’s Court until I was moved out to watch duty here. The King is in the throes of madness, he talks to people who are not there, he orders for the craziest things and he has completely forgotten his own two sons. He’s not fine. And at least Vortigern was keeping the kingdom together, now I fear for the kingdom and my family.”
“Vortigern isn’t his only advisor, Merlin is an intelligent man, he shall aid the King during these times,” Loegaire said, moving to the window to get back to his task of keeping watch. The guard stared across the fertile fields and hills that surrounded Camel but saw nothing in the darkness that suggested anything worrisome.
“A wizard, a conjurer, a trickster shall aid the King in these dark times? Are you as mad as King Constantine?” Ceanatis asked incredulously.
Loegaire gave a sigh, still staring out at across the fields watching for anything that was even remotely interested. Internally he agreed with Ceanatis, there was no point being out here on guard, there was no threat to the town but he would never tell Ceanatis that. “You dislike him solely because of your religion, your God doesn’t allow for magicians to run around solving problems. Therefore he must be a fake, a trickster? What if my religion didn’t allow a single God to run around, would he then be fake?”
“That’s heresy,” Ceanatis breathed. “I should turn you over to the King right now, speaking against that of God.”
Ceanatis arose from his chair, his hand coming to rest dangerously close to the scabbard of his blade. Loegaire himself, turned away from the window and he too let his hand wandered down to his blade. He was never going to attack Ceanatis, however he couldn’t be sure if the feeling would be returned and he had to be prepared to defend himself from an attack.
“So willing to go to the King now?” Loegaire asked, standing just a few inches away from Ceanatis. “I thought he was mad, not all right in the head if I recall you saying?”
“He’ll still recognise a heretic when he sees one,” Ceanatis said strongly.
“Then he won’t recognise me, for I am not a heretic, Ceanatis. I am just a simple pagan, as are many in this country. I for one like to retain my Brythonic culture unlike some,” Loegaire said, coldly. “I know you have embraced your Roman culture, and new Roman religion, but not me. My family are merely simple calf herders, who just worked hard and kept their nose down through Roman rule, I was hoping with the fall of Rome approaching, a British leader would arise, perhaps Lord Geraint.”
“Paganism, wouldn’t your gods have had protected your druids during the Roman invasion? And anyway Britain had no culture before Rome, only farmers and tribal warfare, no culture,” Ceanatis retorted bitterly.
“Some say that they have, you know? And some say that Merlin is not only a wizard, but the last of the druids, sent to protect Britain. That is why he would make a good advisor to the King,” Loegaire said, turning away from Ceanatis again, hoping that his fellow guard wouldn’t take advantage of his trust. “Perhaps you should go home, you clearly don’t want to be here and I’m not too fond of your company, just go and get some sleep. One set of eyes can man this post.”
However before either man could say another word, the door of the guard house opened and in walked a tall commanding figure. He stood at least six feet tall, linen clothing just visible under iron armour and at his waist was a single well-crafted sword. His face was youthful with bright blue eyes staring at the two within the guard house, his red hair wild looking, freed from the helmet that was currently tucked under his arm.
“Lord Geraint!” both guards said, standing to attention.
“At ease,” Geraint said, waving his hand down to gesture taking a seat. “I’ve just been making a quick patrol on all the guard houses on request of King Constantine and you are my last. Any sign of trouble?”
“None at all, my lord,” Loegaire answered quickly, still standing.
“Not that we were expecting any,” Ceanatis said coolly, dropping back down into a seat. “Be honest Sir, are you expecting any monsters to attack us from the dark?”
Ceanatis’ joke brought a chuckle from everyone, even Loegaire, before Geraint, taking a seat, answered him. “I don’t think anyone but the King is expecting an attack to be honest, although Merlin seems concern about Vortigern’s departure, and if Merlin is concerned then so am I. The wizard is rarely wrong when it comes to predicting the future, so I’m willing to up security of Camel for a while. In all realities though, what can happen? No one is strong enough to attack us now, are they?”
“Exactly! What I’ve been trying to tell old Loegaire here for the entire night. Dumnonia is the strongest of the kingdoms so an attack would not come from a fellow kingdom and what is Vortigern going to do, huh? Nothing, that’s what. This whole nighttime sentry is pointless and it’s about time Constantine orders it to stop,” Ceanatis said strongly, grabbing an apple from a barrel and crunching into it.
“I think that the King even has the slightest fear, he should do what is best to protect his people. Don’t you agree soldier?” Geraint said, turning to look back at the guard who still stood at the window. However Loegaire didn’t turn from the window, his hands pale as they gripped tightly onto the ledge of the window. “Soldier, what’s wrong?”
Loegaire moved away from the window and the reason for the fear apparent in his eyes was easily seen. Dotted across the fields surrounding Camel was large pricks of flames from torches as a large black mass of figures charged down from all direction, all of them heading toward Camel. It was easily seen even from the guard house that all were armed and all were ready for battle.
Without even a word to the others, Loegaire leapt across the table, clearing it in one, and bounded out of the room. He had to sound the alarm, the attackers could be at the gate in a matter of moments. Already he could hear the thundering sound of the army charging down towards Camel just as one of the large gongs upon the wall came into view. Grabbing the first mallet he could reach Loegaire brought the tool down hard upon the gong, a loud reverberating sound echoing through the town, waking nearly everyone. The sound of the invaders slamming against the gate was drowned out as Loegaire brought the mallet down for a second time.
***
Merlin silently moved down the halls of the castle out toward the stables, his large body buried within his long traveling cloak. He had to leave in secret and quickly before anyone saw him, for if he was seen he would surely be asked to stay, something which he could not currently do. The banishment of Vortigern and Constantine’s descent into madness had caused Merlin serious concerns, the least of them how to be Constantine’s advisor and continue to hunt the malevolent faeries that plagued Britain. He wasn’t confident that he could do both properly at the same time, certain hunts had been known to go for months and deep into the territories of such barbarians like the Picts.
However this hunt could not wait, the premonition had come to him last night over dinner and it was a serious one. It showed the young Prince of Cameliard, the focus of attention for a group of local pixies; it ended with the prince being poisoned by the faeries and a shape shifter emerging from the shadows. The vision couldn’t come to pass for a faerie king, would utterly destroy the political balance of Britain and send it twirling down into civil war. Nevertheless it wasn’t the only premonition that was troubling him currently, another which often reoccurred told a particularly worrisome story. Merlin saw himself with the two princes, several guards and a boy who looked strangely familiar, fleeing down a dark and wet passageway from some unseen danger. With the disappearance of Vortigern and the arrival of several Germanic scouts the vision worried him but there was nothing he could do at this moment, all he could do was wait for another clue.
The guard at the entrance to the stables didn’t see him at all as he slipped into the building, his magic covering his passage pass the guard. He wasn’t invisible and if the guard had looked closer he would have seen Merlin. For Merlin’s appearance was unlikely to be confused with someone else’s. He was tall and lean, six and a half feet tall; his body wasn’t particularly muscled but in fact rather slender. His clean shaven face and bright green eyes, gave a sense of a man who knew more than any other and his dark brown hair, seemed to gleam slightly more than natural.
His feet crunched softly upon the hay strewn floor, his eyes traveling over each horse as he walked toward the end of the stables. Horses weren’t quite as numerous as they were during Roman occupation but wild horses still lived in Britain and were still domesticated for human use along with breeding already domesticated horses, which met the demand for them. At the very end of the stables was the horse Merlin was looking for, a grey mare called Braith.
She was an old horse, but very reliable and had been with Merlin on many faeries’ hunts. Most importantly she was not easily startled by magic unlike most of the other horses in the stables; she was a stoic creature like himself. Her grey coat was uneven, changing in brightness across her body and her left eye was slightly drooped, and yet she was still the best of Constantine’s horses. Merlin moved over to the wall where a saddle and breastplate were waiting, taking them in his hands, he moved backed over to the horse giving her side a settling pat.
“Come on then, girl,” Merlin said, his voice low and deep however it also had a calming sensation to it. “We have another trip ahead of us, should only be a short one though.” Braith merely stayed silence, lowering herself slightly to make it easier for Merlin to attach the saddle easier. It only took a few minutes for Braith to be prepared for the trip and Merlin began to lead her out of the stables when he her the first strike of the gong.
At first Merlin thought he had imagined the sound, after all he had been overly paranoid since Vortigern’s left, maybe his tired mind was playing tricks upon him but then he heard it unmistakably a second time. Taking a strong grip upon the saddle, Merlin leapt onto Braith nimbly, landing upon the saddle ready to ride. A quick kick at the thighs spurred Braith into a canter out of the stables, rushing past the now guard less doors. Already peasants were rushing from their homes, valuable items clasped in their hands as they raced towards the castle, guards guiding them through the opening gate. Many men were also rushing out of the castle and towards the front gates, weapons in hand as they charged towards flames that were beginning to flicker in the darkness to the north, where the main gate was situated. Fearful of an attack from perhaps an unsavoury force Merlin broke Braith out into a gallop and rushed down the path following the guards seeking to defend their people.
“Merlin! Merlin!” called a voice, Merlin reigning in Braith immediately to see Lord Geraint running towards him from the gate, his red hair flying behind him.
“Geraint! What’s going on? What is happening?” Merlin asked as he leapt from Braith as Geraint reached him.
“We’re under attack,” Geraint said, stating the obvious from the way his sword was already drenched in blood. “Not just any attack though, Merlin. This is an invasion, there so many of them; they outnumber us at least five to one and most likely ten. They’re no British men either; these are barbaric and big men.”
“Saxons,” Merlin breathed the word like a curse.
“Merlin,” Geraint said his face paler with fear. “They’re commanded by two of the largest men I have ever seen, but those two are commanded by someone else. My men have identified that Vortigern is at the rear bellowing orders from atop his steed. This is his army, Merlin.”
Merlin’s mind whirled from the news, that Vortigern had actually rallied an army was a staggering thought. He must have been planning it for months, Merlin thought, staring at the burning gate. And then the prisoners came to the forefront of Merlin’s mind, of course they must have been scouts of the army and that was why Vortigern wanted them freed so urgently. Why hadn’t he seen this? And then it struck him, he had! The vision of him and the boys escaping through the passageway from some unknown danger, he saw it clearly now in front of him; it was a vision of tonight.
“Geraint!” Merlin yelled above the roars of battle urgently. “Where are the Princes?”
“In the castle in their room,” Geraint replied, surprised etched across his face at the question. “I had some guards placed at their door to protect them, there’s not much else I can do…”
“No we can use the drainage tunnel that lead out of the castle from the baths and into the sea, they’re not very stable and in fact quite dangerous, but it’s safer than this. I got to get the boys out of here, I’ll use the tunnel and take them to the sea and get them away from here. Keep them safe, for if we don’t Vortigern will have them killed,” Merlin said, readying himself to leap back onto Braith’s back.
“Merlin,” Geraint called, grabbing hold of Merlin leg to hold him in place. “Listen, my son is with them, Gorlois. Take him with you through the tunnel, and then tell him to get back to Tintagel. Meanwhile you can take the Princes south and across the sea, my cousin is Duke of Brittany, and he shall keep the boys safe.”
Merlin nodded, before giving a roar and breaking Braith out into a gallop, her head bent down low as she thundered up the path and up towards the castle. A few guard vaguely tried to call out to Merlin and even more dived out of the way of the horse as it rode straight into the keep without stopping before Merlin brought her around sharply to turn left down a long corridor. Windows and doors flew past him, exquisite Roman artwork teething dangerously upon their stands as Braith galloped pass, the faint sound of battle in the distant. Merlin guided Braith with care, leading her up the quickest and easiest routes to the princes’ room.
“Kill the prisoners! Kill them all! No one shall survive, no one shall live! Let them all die, if I am to die,” came King Constantine’s voice from somewhere above.
“Not now,” Merlin muttered, reigning Braith in to come to a halt. He could still hear the King’s yelling, that this was God’s work to punish such disloyal subjects, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where the King was. Deciding that he didn’t have time to chase the King down, Merlin once again spurred Braith into a gallop nearing the princes’ room. Suddenly he rode headlong into a small contingency of guards, numbering at least ten and all prepared for an attack. Geraint was clearly taken no chance with the princes and his son, Merlin thought as he jumped from Braith, many of the guards saluting him as he landed upon the hard floor.
“Sir, what are you doing here?” asked Gorran, captain of the Royal Guard.
“Listen closely, I only have time to explain this once,” Merlin said, moving towards the guards. “The Saxons are attacking and the Princes and Lord Geraint’s sons must be moved to safety. Five of you shall accompany me with the boys as we move down through the drainage tunnel in the baths and out of Camel, Gorran you must come too for I have a further task for you once we escape. One of you are to take Braith here,” Merlin gave Braith a pat on her thigh as he said her name, “Down to Lord Geraint at the gates and tell him what is happening in the keep. The rest of you are to find and try to subdue the King before he does anymore damage, do I make myself clear?”
All the guards responded with a nod before beginning to carry out their orders, Gorran already unlocking the door to the room behind them. It was clear that the guards would not refuse a direct order from Merlin, in fact for the past few months, the advisors and Lords had more power over the military than King Constantine, perhaps that was why everything had gone wrong, Merlin thought. Perhaps only a strong King could control the chaos.
The door swung open to reveal three boys, all of varying ages and fearfulness. Prince Uther was only five years old, face wet from where tears had spilt as he heard the sounds of battle from below, his hand clasped tightly in that of his brother. Prince Aurelius was staring straight at Merlin, showing no sign of fear, his youthful face only resolute surrounded by blonde curls. Merlin often wondered if Aurelius was a man trapped in a child’s body.
Next to them, a sword unsheathed and ready to protect the Princes was a young boy, fourteen at the oldest, blight blue eyes and wild black hair instantly marking him as the other boy from Merlin’s vision. While not the same colour, Merlin noted, his wild hair undoubtedly made him Geraint’s son, Gorlois, which was why he seemed so familiar. The boy kept his sword raised for a moment before Merlin met his eyes and he instantly lowered it.
“Merlin, what is going on?” Aurelius asked quickly, his voice firm for a child. He moved forward, dragging Uther with him who refused to let go of his hand, so that he was by the doorway of the room. “Who is attacking? Is father safe?”
“I’m sorry Aurelius, I don’t have time to explain,” Merlin said, guiding the Princes out of the room and into the hallway. “All I can tell you we’re taking you out of the castle and to somewhere safe. We’re going to escape through the drainage tunnel in the baths, that’ll take us into safety but we have to go now.”
Uther burst into tears, Merlin distinctly hearing the word ‘daddy’ before Aurelius knelt down and comforted his younger brother quietly. The wizard turned to Gorlois, who was still lingering in the room unsure of what was happening to him, deciding to let Aurelius calm his brother Merlin entered the room and spoke to the boy.
“Your father has asked me for you to accompany us as we flee from the castle. There’s an exit that will leave you in the hills surrounding the castle. From there your father wants you to make your way to Tintagel, can you do that?” Merlin asked.
“I think so,” the boy said, his voice a cross between that of a man’s and that of a boy’s. “There’s an outpost only a few miles away west from there, I can walk to there and then I can ride the rest of the way. I’ll alert my mother and the guards back at Tintagel of a possible attack.”
Merlin nodded, a premonition rising to the front of his mind to do with Gorlois’ future, a beautiful red haired girl appearing in front of his eyes. However the wizard closed his mind and let the vision dissipate into smoke. It was rare for Merlin to not let a premonition take place, but he had no time to watch the future unfold with the present so precariously poised. Nodding to the guards who fell into step in a square around them, Merlin lightly guided Aurelius down the corridor by his shoulder.
The group walked in utter silent down the hallways, the sound of battle no longer at the gate but across the entire town, drawing closer to the castle. Cautiously turning a corner and down a flight of the stairs, Merlin took the least used halls of the castle, his magic slipping through cracks and down corridors checking for any signs of life. While at first comforting to the wizard, the lack of life in the castle began to worry him as they neared the final flight of stairs that would lead straight to the baths and to freedom.
“What’s that noise?” Uther suddenly said, sniffling; the thundering sound of feet fast approaching could be heard from down the corridor they just came.
“Men ready yourselves!” Gorran ordered, unsheathing his short sword that he had at his waist.
“No Gorran, this is not your battle. I can deal with whoever’s coming easily enough, just get down into the baths and I’ll meet you there,” Merlin said, striding back the way he came, the sound getting closer. “Quickly, before they see the princes,” Merlin hissed before taking a solid stance in the middle of the corridor.
The rest of the group just descended the stairs as the Saxons burst into view, turning into the corridor with weapons raised ready for battle. Merlin was momentarily taken aback by their appearances, big and stocky the Saxons were garbed in animal skins and equipped with crude axes, blood drenched across their bodies. For a moment they stood transfixed at the single figure that stood to oppose them before charging straight at the lone man. Merlin stood in perfect stillness before he outstretched his arms out on either side of his body and brought them together with a loud clap.
At first little balls of stone shot out from both sides of the hall, striking the Saxons like flies before far bigger lumps of stones flew inwards, one knocking a Saxon to the floor. There was a moment more as the Saxons neared before both walls on either side of the hall collapsed completely, burying the Saxons under a pile of debris and blocking their way to Merlin. Wind now flittered into the hall from the now gaping opening in the side of the castle from where Merlin’s attack had come from.
A groaning sound came from below Merlin; a single Saxon was upon the floor his leg crushed within the debris. Merlin surveyed the unkempt man for a moment before raising his hand once more. Green fire seeped from his hand like wisps of mist, descending upon the trapped Saxon who began to scream in agony as the fire burned away skin and flesh. Merlin carried on his relentless attack until the screaming stop and only a badly burned skeleton remained. Merlin remained long enough to hear the scurrying of feet fleeing from the other side of the makeshift wall before he turned and descended down the stairs to the baths behind him.
Merlin found the guards moving the circular stone that covered the drainage tunnel, ushering the boys and Gorran into the tunnel. Merlin quickly slipped through the gap before the guards let the stone roll back, leaving them in complete and utter darkness. Uther broke into tears once more before Merlin opened his palm to reveal a small ball of light, illuminating a small part of the tunnel. It was narrow, cold and wet from where the baths had been drained the day before.
“What now?” Gorran asked, watching Merlin in the limited light. The wizard’s face was slightly more drawn now than before the chase, his brow damp with sweat.
“We flee. This tunnel leads the entire way to the coast and to the Celtic Sea. From there we can find a ship of some sort and sails around the coast and onto Brittany, Geraint’s cousin shall keep the Princes safe. However Gorlois will leave us earlier, there’s a way out that leads into the hills surrounding Camel,” Merlin said, moving to the front as he began to guide the group through the tunnel.
***
“My lord, my men tell me that the princes you seek has escaped the city,” a monster of a man said entering the throne room. Over seven feet tall, scars etched across his face and eyes as black as night made many of the prisoners gathered in the throne room recoil in fear.
“I am displeased Hengist,” Vortigern replied, turning to face the leader of the Saxon army. Vortigern himself was a small sickly man, his face pale and his hair already wispy white giving the appearance of being far older than he already was. “How was it that a couple of children escaped your soldiers’ grasp?”
“Fay magic,” Hengist spat, his face even more grotesque at the mention of the word as he grimaced. “My men said a fay creature blocked the corridor the princes escaped down of with stone from the wall. They also said they heard screaming as one my cousins was killed by the creature.”
Vortigern turned abruptly back to face the throne. Merlin had beaten him to the princes, he would make sure that they were kept safe and eventually they would return for revenge. The thought left him with little confidence in the safety of his newly acquired crown, but a comforting thought was, with the Saxons as his sword the brothers could not touch him.
“And what of the prisoners, Horsa?” Vortigern said turning to face Hengist’ twin brother. “Are they safe?”
“Killed,” Horsa gruffly replied. “A guard told me that Constantine ordered for all prisoners to be killed when we attacked, every last one of them.”
Vortigern’s face contorted in anger, his palms shaking in fury as he slowly moved over to King Constantine who knelt in pray in front of his throne. Vortigern overlooked the old King standing just to his left, noticing the shaking hands of Constantine grasped within each other. His crown still atop his golden topped head, which was bowed as he spoke to God.
“Why did you have all the prisoners killed, my old friend,” Vortigern hissed, still merely shadowing the King.
“Some…someone must atone for your sins,” King Constantine stuttered. Vortigern’s face grew red before he kicked out at Constantine, connecting squarely in his ribs. The sound of bones breaking could be heard across the room as Constantine cried out in pain but refused to slump from his kneeling position. Vortigern circled Constantine like a wolf circling his prey, moving to Constantine’s other side before speaking again.
“And what about your sins, Constantine,” Vortigern spat, grabbing hold of Constantine’s hair and forcing him to face him, his crown rolling onto the floor. “What about the sins of the great Christian King Constantine? Who shall atone for your sins? You ruined lives, you are no better than anyone else here.”
“I only ever did what God asked,” Constantine answered, meeting Vortigern’s eyes. “I shall be greeted as a hero of the faith in heaven; you shall spend eternity in the fires of hell.”
Vortigern bit his lip as he took a tighter hold upon Constantine’s hair and flung his head down upon his throne, causing a large wound to appear across his forehead. Vortigern pulled back the King’s head to survey his handiwork before smashing him back into the throne, emitting screams from the prisoners who were witnessing the assault and a grunt of pain from the King. Vortigern however paid no heed and continued his attacks long after Constantine had stopped his grunts, each time lifting up the King’s face to survey the damage before slamming him back into the throne. It wasn’t until Constantine’s face was completely soaked in his own blood did Vortigern release the King, who slumped to the floor bleeding and dead.
Vortigern swiftly picked up the crown that lay upon the floor and placed it upon his head smugly, the Saxons stamping feet in victory understanding that they had accomplished their task.
“Anyone of Brythonic descent, step forward,” Vortigern said, addressing the prisoners. Many stepped forward, including Lord Geraint who fought till the very end before being overpowered. “You are free to leave. Return to your families and communities and spread the word. The end of Roman oppression is over forever and Vortigern is your High King of Britain. Serve me loyally and you shall be rewarded with land and freedom, betray me and you and your families shall suffer the same fate as King Constantine. If you agree to these terms, leave now.”
Vortigern was pleased to see that everyone who had stepped forward moved to leave, including Geraint. He knew that the threat of murdering their families would be enough for Geraint to lower his head in shame and accept his rule, Vortigern relished in the feeling. However many prisoners still remained, some breaking into tears as they realised what was about to happen to them. Let them ponder their fates a little longer, Vortigern thought turning back to the Saxons.
“Hengist and Horsa, you and your men have served me greatly in my time of need,” Vortigern said, bowing deeply towards the brothers. “And for this you will be rewarded. The Kingdom of Kent shall be yours to have however I ask you to help me search for Merlin, the fay creature.”
“It will be done, my lord,” Hengist said, bowing deeply his brother following suit.
“Good, then there’s only one more task I ask of you then for now,” Vortigern said, moving past Hengist and Horsa and toward the doors. “Slaughter them all,” he said gesturing at the prisoners. As he walked out of the throne room and out into the courtyard bathed in the morning sunlight Vortigern could still hear the screams of anguish as the flower of Roman nobility was weeded from Britain at last.
