Shadowland (33 page)

‘Your
friend plays the spirits at their own game, and wagers highly, Uther
Pendragon.’ The Lady of the Lake walked
forward, lowering the hood of her cloak.

‘Clarise?
What’s happening?’ murmured Uther, his consciousness desperately clawing itself
back, trying to find some sense of reality.

She
ignored him, studied Horsa for a moment, and then turned once more towards
Merlyn. Her eyes closed and the forest became silent. ‘They shall fight,’ she
murmured after a moment, opening her eyes, ‘but no mortal may intercede
further. The spirits have decreed there shall be cause to forget. The timelines
of understanding will become confused; such shall be the cost of this
intrusion.

Two
shall begin, unsure of their future,

Another
will remain, without knowledge of past,

...
and the vanquished must walk the shores of the shadowland, without hope of
past, present, or future.’

Replacing
her hood, she withdrew into the shadows and sunlight flooded the glade once
more. As the last tendril of mist whispered back between the trees, Horsa gave
a cry and swung his sword at Uther.

Now
evenly matched, both warriors fought with a limping gait, the pain of their
wounds making the fight a contest of skill and strength, not speed and
dexterity. Uther felt stiff and unable to react, as he was accustomed. He could
still read his opponent’s intentions, but there was no way he could turn and
evade as fluidly as he was used to. Horsa was stronger, driving Uther back with
a flurry of swinging strikes that threatened to knock the younger combatant
from his feet. Seeking an opening, the tribesman twisted on his good leg,
crying out with the pain that the move cost him. Excalibur leapt in his hands
and Uther saw the shocked expression on Horsa’s face as the blade almost
reached him, slicing past just short of his throat. Without injury, Uther knew
he could easily have stepped forward and driven the blade home, ending the
fight there and then... but he didn’t. With an explosion of agony, his wound
flared, and pain shot up from his leg, through his spine, and with a scream, he
dropped to his knees once more.

Horsa
was quick to move in, and more than ready to make the kill and be done with
these distractions. The boy was on his knees, head bowed in pain. He glanced at
the old druid, who was still watching, unmoving and without expression, from
the shadows. With a smile of victory, he stepped forward and raised his sword
to deliver the final blow... and then the tribesman’s sword seemed to leap in
his hands and flew out as a blur of silver in the sparkling sunlight. The
forest seemed to hold its breath as the blade slipped beneath Horsa’s guard,
entered his chest, and cut the life from his heart.

Both
fighters fell to the floor. Uther Pendragon was still unaware of anything other
than the torment of his pain, and Horsa, the final moments of his life ebbing
away as his spirit prepared to seek the shadowland.

*****

The storyteller cleared his
throat, and gazed around at the expectant faces. He shrugged his shoulders, and
smiled at Calvador Craen.

‘I’m
getting tired, Cal.
I feel... I feel as though I’m fading... ’

Calvador
Craen rose from the position he had occupied by the fire all evening, and
sighed. He turned and glanced round at the audience, and then to his old
friend, and nodded.

‘With
the permission of Uther Pendragon, once King of all the Britons, I shall try
and add the final part to his story, so that I can finally take him home.’ He
smiled at the expectant faces, knowing that most of the listeners still
believed there was little more to Uther’s story than the imagination of two
very old men. However, he decided he would complete the story anyway... for
Uther.

‘After
the death of Horsa, the combined forces of the tribes travelled to Camulod,
where they ... ’ he waved his arm in the air distractedly ‘... had another
battle and eventually formed a truce with the Saxons.’

Uther
reached over and grasped Cal’s
hand. ‘Slow down, Calvador, please. Talk about my life after the death of
Horsa, what happened? I took a wife, and had a child. I remember his name... Arthur!’

‘You
had a wife and child, Uther. You married
Igraine
,
which is another long and tiresome story, and had a son, and yes, you named him
Arthur. He went on to become one of the greatest kings that this land has ever
had, and then while Arthur was still young, Merlyn arrived to complete an old
promise... ’

Chapter Nineteen – Shadowland

‘Where are we going?’ Uther
leaned across between the horses, and then frowned when the druid remained
silent. ‘You have to tell me sooner or later... after all, I am king... or I
was last time I looked.’ Jerking the reins over, he bumped the horses together
causing Merlyn to fight for his balance as his horse skittered to the side.

‘Be
patient, boy,’ snapped the druid, once he had managed to regain control. ‘I’ve
asked very little of you over the past few years. When we first met, you may
recall that I agreed to help you free Clarise, but you may also remember that
it was a pact. You agreed that one day you would be beholden to me. If that
memory has not escaped you, think of this journey as your repaying that debt. Kindly
do me the grace of riding with me, and enjoying my company for a few days. Is
it so much for an old friend to ask?’

They
continued in silence. It was a warm day, the celebration of Beltane less than a
week behind them, with its feasting, dancing and fires of purification now
complete. The druids had all departed, satisfied that the land was now reborn
and a good harvest season assured, which only left Merlyn with his request for
a few days of Uther’s time.

‘Boy?’
said Uther, with a smile. ‘You called me, boy. Nobody has called me that in
quite some time. Do you call Arthur, ‘‘boy’’?’ When Merlyn didn’t answer, Uther
continued. ‘Well I would wager that you do and that it rankles him as much as
it once did me. Does my son progress with his studies?’

Merlyn
turned in his saddle and regarded Uther with a sombre expression. ‘Arthur is
developing well, very well. One day, he is going to make a formidable leader.
What’s more, he is a good and honest young man.’ His face broke into a rare
smile. ‘But then, Uther, he is your son, I would expect nothing less of him.’

‘Thank
you, Merlyn, that makes me happy, and it was the most you’ve said all morning.
Maybe, if you’re feeling a bit more chatty, you can tell me where we’re going,
and why the mystery?’

‘Just
enjoy the day, Uther,’ replied Merlyn, pulling the hood of his robe over his
head. ‘Just enjoy the day. There are no pressures out here. No demands or
petitions from your people, just the beauty of the land and, as you say, a
mystery to keep your mind occupied, if you so wish. ’

When
evening began to set in, they made camp on the fringe of the Weald. The sun set
over the distant hills and the ancient forest became dark and foreboding,
sending Uther searching the shadows for firewood to keep the chill at bay.
Merlyn watched, clearly amused as the King of Britons blew life into the fire
then busied himself constructing a shelter.

‘Still
remember how it’s done then, boy?’

‘Stop
calling me boy, old man. Of course I remember, and I confess to enjoying the
experience more than I thought possible. I forgot about life before I was king.
The days when I had to build my own fires and was merely Usher from the
village.’ He sat back and stared into the flames, lost in the memories of
another time, and then glanced around at the shadowy forest and shivered.
‘These trees hold many memories and shades of my past. I still remember Horsa
chasing us through this forest. And when Cal and I... ’ he lapsed into a
momentary silence before continuing, ‘I hope the spirits let me sleep tonight.’

‘You
will sleep, Uther. Then tomorrow we shall rise early. At dawn we have someone
to meet, just a short ride from here, before we enter the forest.’ Merlyn
gathered his robes around him and refused to be drawn into further conversation
when Uther tried, once again, to question him on the true reason for their
journey.

It
was still dark when they broke camp the next morning, a chill mist hanging to
the edge of the trees making for an unpleasant start. For a while, they rode in
near darkness along a well-trampled path, and then dawn began to paint the
eastern sky with the first blush of the new day, slowly banishing the night and
the last residues of sleep from Uther’s mind. The sun was still below the level
of the treetops as the two riders entered the village of Rudge.
There was a general bustle about the place even at this early hour, the good
people of Rudge not given to sleeping late when there was work to do in the
fields. They rode past the first few dwellings and the smell of cooking reached
out to taunt them, and Uther’s stomach growled.

‘We
have a few things to do before we can eat, I’m afraid,’ said Merlyn, ‘but our
first stop is just the other side of the village... not far.’ He kicked the
horse into a trot and they carried on through the village between the
roundhouses and several larger square-built structures, and then on past empty
cattle pens and the last few scattered dwellings of the village. Once back out
into open country, a narrow path led across a small meadow and down towards a
collective of smaller roundhouses in the distance. A boy of around ten summers
ran out as they approached, he was hollering and shouting happily, as he waved
a stick about his head, closely followed by a small black and tan dog. The boy
stopped his game when he saw them, but stood his ground, clearly unafraid of
the two strangers as the dog growled protectively at his side.

‘Who
are you?’ Have you come to see me mother? Or is it Tilly, yer after?’

Merlyn
smiled down at the boy. ‘I don’t know. Would your mother’s name be Maddie, by
any chance?’

‘Course
‘tis, who are you?’

‘My
name is Merlyn, young man. We met a few years ago when you were... a little
younger. I thought I would come to visit and see how you are doing,’ The old
druid sat upright in the saddle and made a show of searching the trees and
bushes nearby, then leaned lower to whisper, ‘... and this fine fellow here is
King Uther Pendragon.’

The
boy glanced across at Uther, and then back to Merlyn. ‘Is he really? A King?’
he gasped. Merlyn nodded and was about to say more, when a woman came out from
one of the huts, drying her hands on a cloth.

‘Lancelot,
come back here!’ The dog ran to her, wagging its tail, but Lancelot remained
where he was.

‘E’s
a King, Mum. There’s a King come to see us!’ He pointed up at Uther, a big grin
spreading across his face.

‘Oh
spirits.’ The woman’s hand went to her mouth as she studied the two visitors,
her eyes flitting quickly over to Uther, before coming back to rest upon
Merlyn. ‘It’s you. You were the one... on that day... at his birth in the
forest. It was you, wasn’t it?’

Merlyn
nodded and smiled down at the flustered woman. ‘Maddie, may we speak with you?’

The
sounds of Lancelot attacking trees with his stick and the dog barking excitedly
by his side faded behind them as they followed Maddie into the largest of the
dwellings.

A
short while later they were back on the road with Lancelot and the dog keeping
pace alongside them as an escort to the edge of the Weald. It was apparently
necessary as their young guard and his dog had to defend them from three large
bushes and a vicious-looking birch tree before they had made it to the safety
of the forest. They left him savaging a holly bush with his stick, daring it to
fight back in a loud piping voice.

‘What
was that all about?’ Uther asked, when they were beyond the boy’s hearing. ‘Who
is that boy? And why, by the spirits, did we promise to take him and his mother
back to Pendragon Hill?’

‘There
are many changes ahead, Uther. When Arthur takes the throne, everything must be
ready for him. That boy back there was born so that Arthur could become the
great leader that this land will need. Remember, there is no such thing in life
as coincidence, everything that happens, happens for a reason. Unfortunately,
most people remain unaware of the clues to life that the spirits leave us, but
it’s a druid’s job to notice when things happen, to untangle the clues and make
sense of them... and it’s a king’s job to listen to the wisdom of druids.’

Uther
glanced across and was somewhat relieved to see Merlyn grinning at him. ‘Come,
boy, we have one more meeting before we get to break our fast.’

The
path wove through the woods with the soft light of dawn filtering down through
the green canopy. On two occasions, Merlyn stood high in his saddle and peered
about seeking direction, and then, each time apparently satisfied, led them
from the path, away from the well-trodden route. Uther’s stomach continued to
complain in gurgles and rumbles, causing him to apologise as the druid frowned
in his direction.

‘No,
it is I who should apologise, Uther. This is taking longer to find than I
thought it would. Unfortunately, it was several years ago that I was last at
this place and... well, I wasn’t exactly myself at the time.’