Last Sword Of Power (14 page)

"The Isle is an enchanted place,' whispered Prasamaccus. 'And when did your father die?'

'I think you know the answer to that, Prasamaccus. I have a son, and we are not close.' He smiled. 'Perhaps one day he will sail to the Isle.'

Prasamaccus bowed and the two Britons left the room.

'We cannot undertake this task alone,' said Gwalchmai as they emerged into the sunlight. 'There is too much ground to cover.'

'I know, my friend. But Cato is right. Against the power of Wotan he needs all his young men and only ancients like us can be spared.'

Prasamaccus stopped. 'I think that is the answer, Gwal. Ancients. You recall the day when Uther split the sky and marched out of the mist leading the Ninth?'

'Of course. Who could forget it?'

'The Legate of the Lost Legion was Severinus Albinus. Now he has a villa at Calcaria - less than half a day's ride from here.'

'The man is over sixty!' objected the Cantii.

'And how old are you?' snapped Prasamaccus.

'There is no need to ram the dagger home,' said Gwalchmai. 'But he is a rich Roman and probably fat and content.'

'I doubt it. But he will know the whereabouts of other survivors of the Ninth. They were Uther's legion, sworn to him by bonds stronger than blood. He brought them from the Vales of the Dead.'

'More than a quarter of a century ago. Most of them will have died by now.'

'But there will be some who have not. Maybe ten, maybe a hundred. We must seek them out.'

Severinus Albinus still looked every inch the Roman general he had been until a mere five years previously. His back was spear-straight, his dark eyes eagle-sharp. For him, the past twenty-five years had been like living a dream, for he and all his men of the Ninth Legion had been trapped in the hell of the Void for centuries before the young prince, Uther Pendragon, rescued them and brought them home to a world gone mad. The might of Rome - preeminent when Severinus had marched his men into the mist - was now but a shadow, and barbarians ruled where once the laws of Rome were enforced by legions whose iron discipline made defeat unthinkable. Severinus had been honour bound to serve Uther and he had done it well, training native British troops along imperial lines, fighting in wars for a land about which he cared nothing. Now he was at peace in his villa - reading works of ancient times that, for him at least, were reminders of a yesterday that had swallowed his wife and children and all that he knew and loved. A man out of his time, Severinus Albinus was close to contentment as he sat in his garden reading the words of Plutarch.

His personal slave, Nica, a Jew from the Greek islands, approached him.

'My lord, there are two men at the gate who wish to speak with you.'

Tell them to come tomorrow. I am in no mood for business.'

'They are not city merchants, lord, but men who claim friendship.'

Severinus rolled the parchment and placed it on the marble seat beside him. 'They have names, these friends?'

'Prasamaccus and Gwalchmai.'

Severinus sighed. 'Bring them to me - and fetch wine and fruit. They will stay the night, so prepare suitable rooms.'

'Shall I heat the water, lord, for the guest baths?'

'That will not be necessary. Our guests are Britons and they rarely wash. But have two village girls hired to warm their beds.'

'Yes, lord,' answered Nica, bowing and moving away as Severinus stood and smoothed his long toga, his contentment evaporating. He turned to see the limping Prasamaccus shuffling along the paved walkway, followed by the tall, straight-backed Cantii tribesman known as the King's Hound. Both men he had always treated with respect, as the King's companions deserved, but he had hoped never to see them again. He was uncomfortable with Britons.

'Welcome to my home,' he said, bowing stiffly. 'I have ordered wine for you.' He gestured to the marble seat and Prasamaccus sank gratefully to it while Gwalchmai stood by, his powerful arms crossed at his chest. 'I take it you are here to invite me to the funeral?'

"The King is not dead,' said Prasamaccus. Severinus covered his shock well as the scene was interrupted by a servant bearing a silver tray on which were two goblets of wine and a pitcher of water. He laid it on the wide arm-rest of the seat and silently departed.

'Not dead? He lay in state for three days.'

'He is in the Isle of Crystal, recovering,' said Gwalchmai.

'I am pleased to hear it. I understand the Goths will be moving against us and the King is needed.'

'We need your help.' said Gwalchmai bluntly. 'And the men of the Ninth.'

Severinus smiled thinly. "The Ninth no longer exists. The men took up their parcels of land and are now citizens - none less than fifty years old. As you well know, the King disbanded the Ninth, allowing them a retirement well-earned. War is a challenge for young men, Gwalchmai.'

'We do not need them for war, Severinus,' said Prasamaccus. 'The Sword of Power is gone - it must be found.' “”he Brigante told the general about the attack on the King and Culain's theory of the Sword. Through it all Severinus remained motionless, his dark eyes fixed on Prasamaccus' face.

'Few men,' said Severinus, 'understood the power of the Sword. But I saw it slice the air like a curtain to free us from the Mist, and Uther once explained the riddle of how he always knew where the enemy would strike. The Sword is as valuable as the King. Yet it is all very well to seek the Ninth, but there is no time to scour the land. You talk of a site where magic is suddenly powerful. In peace-time perhaps the quest would have some meaning, but in war? There will be columns of refugees, enemy troops, hardship, pain and death. No, a random search is not the answer.'

'Then what is?' asked Gwalchmai.

'Only one man knows where the Sword was sent. We must ask him!'

'The King lies in a state close to death,' said Prasamaccus. 'He cannot speak.'

'He could not when last you saw him, Prasamaccus. But if Culain took him to the magic Isle, perhaps he is now awake?'

'What do you suggest, general?'

'I will get word to the men of the Ninth. But do not expect a large gathering; many are now dead and others returned to Italia, hoping to find some link with their pasts. And we will start our journey tomorrow to the south-west.'

'I cannot travel with you, general,' said Prasamaccus. 'I must go to the Caledones.'

Severinus nodded. 'And you, Gwalchmai?'

'I will ride with you. There is nothing for me here.'

'There is nothing for any of us here,' said Severinus. "The world is changing. New empires grow, old ones die. The affairs of a nation are like the life of a man; no man and no empire can for long resist decline.'

'You think the Goths will win?' stormed Gwalchmai.

'If not the Goths, then the Saxons or the Jutes. I urged Uther to recruit Saxon warriors for his legions, to allow them a degree of self-government. But he would not listen. In the South Saxon alone there are thirty thousand men of sword-bearing age. Proud men. Strong men. This realm will not long survive Uther.'

'We have not suffered a defeat in twenty-five years,' said Gwalchmai.

'And what is that to history? When I was young, in the days of Claudius, Rome ruled the world. Where are the Romans now?'

'I think age has weakened your courage.'

'No, Gwalchmai, four hundred years in the Mist strengthened my wisdom. There is a guest room for each of you. Go now - we will talk later.'

The Britons retired to the villa, leaving the old general in the garden where Nica found him. 'Is there anything you need, lord?'

'What news from the merchants?'

'They say that a great army is gathering across the water and that Wotan will be here within weeks.'

'What do the merchants plan?'

'Most have hidden their wealth. Some have reinvested in Hispania and Africa. Still more are preparing to welcome the Goths. It is the way of the world.'

'And you, Nicodemus?'

'Me, lord? Why, I will stay with you.'

'Nonsense! You have not spent ten years building yourself a fortune merely to die as my slave.'

'I do not know what you mean, lord.'

'This is no time for denials. You risked my capital with Abrigus and he brought home a cargo of silks that netted me a handsome sum. You took a commission of one hundred silver pieces which you re-invested skilfully.'

Nica shrugged. 'How long have you known?'

'About six years. I am leaving tomorrow and I do not think I will return. If I do not come home within the year, then the villa is yours - and all my capital; there is a sealed parchment to that effect lodged with Cassius. My slaves are to be freed and an amount set aside for the woman, Trista; she has been good to me. You will see all this is done?'

'Of course, lord, but naturally I hope you will have a long life and return speedily.'

Severinus chuckled. 'And still you lie, you rogue! Get ready my sword, and the armour of combat -not the ornamental breastplate, but the old leather cuirass. As to the mount, I will take Cam's.'

'He is getting old, lord.'

'We are all getting old, Nica. But he's wily and fears nothing.'

The boat slid through the dark waters, Culain sitting silently at the tiller, until at last the tunnel widened into a cavern hung with gleaming stalactites. The waters bubbled and hissed and the walls gleamed with an eldritch light. Culain steered the craft through a maze of natural pillars and out on to a wide mist-smeared lake. The stars were bright, the moon shining over the distant tor on which stood a round tower. The air was fresh and cool and the Lance Lord stretched and drew in a deep breath as the peace of the Isle swept over him. His eyes roamed the landscape, seeking the once-familiar forms of the Sleeping Giants, the Questing Beast, the Centaur, the Dove, the Lion. Hidden for two thousand years, but potent still.

The craft moved on into the tree-shadowed bay, towards the camp-fire that twinkled in the distance like a resting star. As the boat neared the land, seven hooded figures rose from around the fire and advanced in a line towards the shore.

'Why have you called us?' asked a woman's voice.

'I have a friend here, in need of your help.'

'Is your friend a man of peace?'

'He is the King.'

'Is that an answer?'

'He is the man who declared the Isle of Crystal to be sacred, and he has protected its sanctity and its freedom.'

‘The Isle needs no mem to declare it sacred, nor swords to protect its freedom.'

'Then look upon him simply as he is, a man whose soul has been stolen and whose body is in peril.'

'And where would you have us take him?' asked the woman.

To the Round Hall hi the Circle of the Great Moon, where no evil may dwell, where the two worlds join in the sign of the Sacred Fish.'

'You know much of our Mysteries.'

'I know all of your Mysteries . . . and more besides.' Without another word the women moved forward and effortlessly lifted the King from the craft. In two lines, the body almost floating between them, the hooded women set off into the shadows with Culain following. A figure in white emerged from the trees, a hood drawn over her face.

'You cannot travel further, warrior.'

'I must remain with him.'

'You cannot.'

'You think to stop me?'

'You will stop yourself,' she told him, 'for your presence weakens the power that will keep him alive.'

'I am not evil,' he argued.

'No, Culain lach Feragh, you are not evil.'

'You know me, then? That is good, for you must also know that I planted the Thorn and began the work you now continue.'

'You began it, yes, but not in faith; it was but one more of your games. You told the Sisters that you know all their Mysteries and more besides. Once that was the truth, but it is no longer. You think you chose this place, Culain? No. It chose you.'

'Forgive my arrogance, lady. But let me stay. I have much to atone. And I am lost and have nowhere to go.'

Moonlight bathed the bay, making the white-robed priestess almost ethereal, and the warrior waited as she considered his words. Finally she spoke.

'You may stay on the Isle, Culain - but not at the Round Hall.' She pointed up at the great Tor and the tower that stood there. 'There you may rest, and I will see that food is brought to you.'

'Thank you, lady. It is a weight lifted from my heart.'

She turned and was gone. Culain climbed the ancient path that circled the Tor, rising higher and higher above the land and lakes below. The tower was old, and had been old when he was a child in Atlantis. The wooden floors had rotted and only the huge stones remained, carefully fashioned with a precision now lost to the world and interlocked without the aid of mortar. Culain lit a fire with some of the rotten wood and settled down to sleep beneath the stars.

Cormac awoke to a barren landscape of skeletal trees and dusty craters. Beside him lay his sword, and behind him was a tunnel that rose up through a mountain. Sitting up, he looked into the tunnel. At the far end, high in the heart of the mountain, he saw a flickering glow and yearned to walk towards it and bathe in the light.

But just then he became aware of another figure and swung, sword in hand, to see an old man sitting on a flat rock; his beard was white and he was dressed in a long grey robe.

'Who are you?' asked Cormac.

'No one,' answered the man with a rueful smile. 'Once though, I was someone and I had a name.'

'What is this place?'

The man shrugged. 'Unlike me, it has many names and many secrets. And yet, like me, it is nowhere. How did you come here?'

'I ... there was a fight ... I ... cannot remember clearly.'

'Sometimes that is a gift to receive with gratitude. There is much I would like to un-remember.'

'I was stabbed,' said Cormac, 'many times.' Lifting his shirt, he examined the pale flesh of his chest and back. 'But there are no scars.'

'The scars are elsewhere,' said the man. 'Did you fight well?'

'No. I was blind . . . Anduine! I must find her.' He stood and moved towards the tunnel.

'You will not find her there,' said the man softly, 'for that way lies blood and fire and life.'

'What are you saying, old man?'

'I am stating the obvious, Cormac, son of Uther. Your lady has gone before you on this long grey road. Do you have the courage to follow?'

'Courage? You are making my head spin. Where is she?'

The old man rose and pointed to the distant mountains beyond the black river that wound across the foot of the valley below. 'She is there, Cormac, where all new souls gather. The Mountains of the Damned.'

'I ask you again, old man, what is this place?'

"This, young prince, is the place of nightmares. Here only the dead may walk. This is the Void and here dwells Chaos.'

'Then . . . I . . .'

'You are dead, prince Cormac.'

'No!'

'Look around you,' said the old man. 'Where is life? Is there grass, or any living tree? Is there sign of any animal or bird? Where are the stars that should grace the sky?'

'And yet I still think and feel, and I can wield my sword. This is a dream, old man; it does not frighten me.'

The man rose and smoothed his grey robe. 'I am journeying to those mountains. Do you wish me to give a message to your lady?'

Cormac looked back at the tunnel and the beckoning light. Every emotion in him screamed to run towards it, to escape the pitiless grey of the land around him. But Anduine was not here. He looked to the mountains.

'You say she is there, yet why should I believe you?'

'Only because you do. I would not lie to you, young prince. I served your father and his father and grandfather. I was the Lord Enchanter.'

'Maedhlyn?'

'Yes, that was one of my names in the Light. Now I am no one.'

'So, you also are dead?'

'As dead as you, prince Cormac. Will you travel with me on the grey road?'

'Will I truly find Anduine?'

'I do not know. But you will walk her path.'

'Then I will join you.'

Maedhlyn smiled and walked down the hillside to the dark river. He raised his arms and called out and a black barge came into sight, steered by a monstrous figure with the head of a wolf and eyes that gleamed red in the pale half-light of eternal dusk. Cormac raised his sword.

'You will not need that,' whispered Maedhlyn. 'He is only the Ferryman, and will offer no harm to you.'

'How can he harm a dead man?' asked Cormac.

'Only your body has died. Your spirit can still know pain and, worse, extinction. And there are many beasts here, and Once-men who will seek to harm you. Keep your sword ready, Cormac. You will have need of it.'

Together they climbed into the barge, which moved out on to the river under the skilled silent poling of the Ferryman.

The boat came to rest against a stone jetty and Maedhlyn climbed clear, beckoning Cormac to follow him. The Ferryman sat still, his red eyes fixed on the youth and his hand extended.

'What does he want?'

'The black coin,' said Maedhlyn. 'All travellers here must pay the Ferryman.'

'I have no coin.'

The old man was troubled. 'Search your pockets, young prince,' he ordered. 'It must be there.'

'I tell you I have nothing.'

'Search anyway!'

Cormac did as he was bid, then spread his arms. 'As I said, I have nothing but my sword.'

Maedhlyn's shoulders sagged. 'I fear I have done you a terrible injustice, Cormac.' He turned to the Ferryman and spoke in a language the youth had never heard. The beast seemed to smile, then he stood and turned the barge, poling it back on to the river.

'What injustice?'

'You are not, it seems, dead, though how you have come here is a mystery. All souls carry the black coin.'

'There is no harm done. He carried us over.'

'Yes, but he will not take you back - and that is the tragedy.'

'It is not wide, Maedhlyn. If necessary I can swim across.'

'No! You must never touch the water; it is the essence of Hell itself. It will burn what it touches and the pain will last an eternity.'

Cormac approached the old man, placing his arm over Maedhlyn's shoulder.

'It is no tragedy. I have no wish to live without Anduine, and she has already passed the river. Come, let us walk. I wish to reach the mountains before dark.'

'Dark? There is no dark here. This is how the Void is, and always will be. There is no sun and no moon, and the stars are a distant memory.'

'Let us walk anyway,' snapped Cormac. Maedhlyn nodded and the two set off.

For many hours they continued on their way until at last weariness overcame the prince. 'Do you never tire?' he asked the Enchanter.

'Not here, Cormac. It is another sign of your bond to life. Come, we will sit up there on the hillside; I will light a fire and we will talk.'

They camped within a circle of boulders. Maedhlyn gathered dead wood and the small fire blazed brightly. The Enchanter seemed lost in thought, and Cormac did not disturb him. After a while, Maedhlyn stretched and smiled grimly.

'It would have been better, young prince, to have met under the sun, in the woods around Eboracum or in the palace at Camulodunum. But men must make of events what they can. I taught your father when he was your age, and he was swift in learning. He became a man who could bend almost any situation to his will. Perhaps you also are such a man?'

Cormac shook his head. 'I was raised as a demon's son, shunned by all. The man who was a father to me was slain, and I fled. I met Culain and he saved me. He left me to protect Anduine and I failed. That is the story of Cormac. I do not think I am as Uther was.'

'Do not judge yourself too harshly, young prince. Tell me all of the story - and I will be your judge.'

As the fire flickered to glowing ash, Cormac told of his early life with Grysstha, of the kiss from Alf-truda that led to Grysstha's murder, of the meeting with Culain and the battle with the demons to protect Anduine. Lastly he outlined the rescue of Oleg and his daughter, and the fight with the Vikings that ultimately caused the attack on the cabin.

Maedhlyn listened quietly until the story was complete, then he added fresh fuel to the fire.

'Uther would have been proud of you, but you are too humble, prince Cormac; I would guess that has much to do with the tribulations of your childhood. Firstly, when Alftruda's brothers attacked you, you defeated them all - the act of a warrior and a man of courage. Secondly, when the demons came, you fought like a man. And when you carried Oleg from the mountain, you once more showed the power of your spirit. And yes, you failed; the forces against you were too powerful. But know this, child of Uther, to fail is not so terrible.The real act of cowardice is never to try.'

'I think, Maedhlyn, I would sooner have been less heroic and more successful. But there is no point now in worrying at it. I will have no opportunity to redeem myself.'

'Do not be too sure of that,' said the Enchanter softly. 'This world, damnable as it is, has many similarities with the one you have left.'

'Name them?'

'The Lord of this world is Molech, once a man but now a demon. You know him better as Wotan. This was his realm for nigh two thousand years.'

'Wotan? How is that possible?'

'Through one man's stupidity. My own. But let me tell the story in my own time. You know, of course, of the Feragh, the last living fragment of Atlantis?'

'Yes, Culain told me.'

'Well, in those glorious days there were many young men who yearned for adventure. And we had the power of the Stones and we became gods to the mortals. One such young man was Molech. He revelled in dark emotions and his pleasures would turn most men's stomachs; torture, pain and death were as wine to him. He turned his world into a charnel-house. It was too much for any of us to bear and the Feragh turned against him. Our King, Pendarric, led a war that saw Molech humbled. Culain fought him on the towers of Babel and killed him there, beheading him and hurling the body to the rocks to be burned.'

'Then how did he return?'

'Be patient!' snapped Maedhlyn. 'Molech, like all of us, could use the Stones to become immortal. But he went one step further than we had; he took a ring of Silver Sipstrassi and embedded it in his own skull, under the skin, like an invisible crown. He became Sipstrassi, needing no Stone. When Culain killed him, I took the head. No one knew what I had done. I burned the flesh from it and kept it as a talisman, an object of great power. It aided me through the centuries that followed. I knew Molech's spirit still lived and I communed with it, and with the dead of his realm, learning much and using the knowledge well. But, in my arrogance, I did not realise that Molech was also using me and his power was growing.

'Some years ago, just after you were born, Uther and I suffered a parting of the ways. I journeyed to the lands of the Norse, and there met a young woman who wished to be my student. I allowed her into my house and into my heart. But she was a servant of Molech and she drugged me one night and placed the skull on my head. Molech took my body and my spirit was sent here. Now he torments me with my own stupidity, and the murderous excesses we fought so hard to destroy are returned to plague the world. And this time he will not be defeated.'

'Culain still lives. He will destroy him,' said Cormac.

'No, Culain is a shadow of the man that once was. I thought that Uther and the Sword of Power might just be strong enough, but Wotan out-thought me there also. He has taken the Blood King.'

'Killed him?'

'No. Would that he had!'

'I do not understand you,' said Cormac.

'Uther is here, Prince Cormac, in the Void. Held in chains of soulfire.'

'I care only for Anduine,' said Cormac. 'While I can admire the strength and skills of the man who sired me, all I know is that he hounded my mother to her eventual death. I do not care for his suffering.' He rose smoothly to his feet. 'I have rested enough, Maedhlyn.'

'Very well,' whispered the Enchanter. His hand floated over the fire and the blaze died instantly. 'It is a long walk and a road fraught with perils. Keep to the path. No matter what happens, Cormac, keep to the path.'

Together they set off on the wide road. On either side the pitiless landscape stretched to a grey horizon, the land broken only by ruined trees and jutting black boulders, jagged and stark. Dust rose about their feet, drying Cormac's throat and stinging his eyes.

'This is a soul-less place,' he said, bringing a wry chuckle from Maedhlyn.

'That is exactly the opposite of the truth, young man. All that lives here are the souls of the departed. The problem we face is that the majority of those condemned here are evil. And here a man's true nature is what is seen. Take the Ferryman. He was a man once, but now he has the shape of the beast he hid in life.'

'Anduine has no place here,' said Cormac. 'She is gentle and kind; she harmed no one.'

'Then she will pass on along the road. Do not fear for her, Cormac. There is a cosmic balance to this place and not even Molech could disturb it for long.'

As they rounded a bend in the road, they saw a young girl whose foot was caught in a snare. 'Help me!' she called and Cormac stepped from the road to where she lay, but as he reached her a towering figure loomed from behind a rock.

'Look out!' yelled Maedhlyn and Cormac spun, his sword slashing in a murderous arc that clove through the side of the scaled beast.

With a hissing scream that sprayed black blood over Cormac's shirt, the monster vanished. Behind him the girl rose silently, fingers extended like claws. Maedhlyn hurled a slender dagger that took her between the shoulder-blades and Cormac whirled as she fell to her knees. Her eyes were red as blood, her mouth lined with pointed fangs, a serpent's tongue slid between her blue lips. Then she too vanished.

'Get back to the road,' ordered Maedhlyn, 'and bring my dagger.' The blade lay in the dust. Cormac scooped it up and rejoined the Enchanter.

'What were they?'

'A father and daughter. They spent their lives robbing and killing travellers on the road between Verulamium and Londinium. They were burnt at the stake twenty years before you were born.'

'Does nothing good live here?'

'A man finds good in the most unlikely places, prince Cormac. But we shall see.'

They journeyed on for what could have been an eternity. Without stars or moon to judge the hours, Cormac lost all sense of passing time, yet eventually they reached the mountains and followed the path to a wide cave where torches blazed.

'Be on your guard here, for there is no protection,' warned Maedhlyn.

Inside the cave scores of people were sitting, or sleeping, or talking. The newcomers were ignored and Maedhlyn led the prince down a series of torchlit tunnels, packed with souls, halting at last in a central cavern where a huge fire burned.