How this had been possible Tregor did not know. He only knew that it had been so, just as he knew that the Raven Boy should be killed – and as quickly as was possible.
“The Army of the Dead cannot enter Avalon, not yet.”
The full annoyance of the Dark Lord was not only heard in his voice but also evidenced by the flames that rose up and burned from his very soul. “But you can my Dark Riders,” the Dark Lord continued. “You and your brothers can cross into Avalon and bring Fear and Death to all who live there and who would stand against my Kingdom of Hell on Earth.”
“We should kill this Raven Boy,” Mortus’ voice also rasped with the unfamiliarity of use but even so his contempt was plain to hear.
“We will,” the Dark Lord too had suffered more than enough at the hands of the Raven Boy. That fire-driven Being wished the boy dead more than anything else in Creation.
“Even the Minotaur could not slay the Raven Boy,” Tregor’s dry voice rang out. He knew that there had already been many attempts to kill the boy enchanter and none of them had succeeded.
“The Minotaur was slain by the Sword of Mithras,” Tregor continued.
“But now the Bull Slayer has left Avalon and the Sword of Mithras is lost to them forever,” Mortus reminded his brother.
“There is a connection between the Bull Slayer and the Raven Boy and this I do not understand,” the Dark Lord spoke more to himself than to the two Dark Riders that stood before him.
“If we spy the Raven Boy, do you wish us to kill him, my Lord?”
To Tregor this seemed to be the simple answer to the riddle and enigma that was the dark-haired Raven Boy.
“If, as I suspect, he is of the Old Magic then he will be too strong for you, my Riders,” the Dark Lord spat the words out for he was beginning to realise the full extent of the boy enchanter’s magic that, if anything, seemed to be growing in strength. “We will wait until the Dark Magic is at its full Power. Then we will sweep down into Avalon, kill this Raven Boy and see that Camelot and all of Avalon runs with Fire and Blood.”
“What of King Uther Pendragon?” Mortus asked for he was fully aware of the King of Camelot’s undoubted prowess on the battlefield.
The Dark Lord was dismissive of this question.
“The death of his queen has weakened him,” the Dark Lord told the skeletal figure that stood before him. “He is a man consumed with hatred and bitterness and so he plays into my hands. He will die alongside his subjects.”
“Where would you have us go, my lord?” The eagerness could be heard in Tregor’s rasping voice. It had been long since he had killed and the thought of the bloodshed that he could bring in his Master’s name filled him with a strange exultation.
“To Camelot,” the Dark Lord’s rose almost to a scream. “Let King Uther Pendragon and his subjects realise that the Dark Forces and the Hell of the Underworld are coming to them and that their petty life spans are about to end. Rain fire and death onto Camelot,” he ordered, “I would have it know what it is to come under my Power.”
“And then what would you have us do, my lord?” Mortus had fed on his master’s hatred and urge to destroy. The Dark Rider could feel a new energy flowing through his bones which had been dead for many hundreds of years.
“Ride over Avalon,” now the fires than ran across the Dark Lord’s body spun and reared up as if in answer to his determination to bring desolation to the Land of Avalon and its inhabitants. “Spy this Raven Boy,” the Dark Lord continued, “And see what allies, if any, that he has. This will be the Final Battle, my Riders – for this will be the Battle for Avalon and for All of their World. We will not fail but I would know my enemy and my enemy’s strengths. If there are any of the Old Magic in Avalon, besides this Raven Boy, then I must know of it.”
Mortus bowed his head to his Dark Master, “It shall be as you say, my lord. We will not fail you.”
Tregor too was borne along by his brother’s enthusiasm to crush and to kill.
“The Dark Riders will herald the Coming of the Dark Age and the submission of this Land of Avalon to the Underworld,” he told the huge fire-driven Being that stood before him.
“Go my Riders,” the Dark Lord ordered them. “And with your brothers, Gravus and Grimold, ride as you have never ridden before. Bring my Power of the Underworld to this World of Men.”
Without another word, the two Dark Riders, that were Tregor and Mortus, turned their skeletal horses and rode hard for the skies of Avalon.
The Dark Lord turned back to his Bowl of Blood from which he could overlook the whole of Camelot and Avalon. He felt more than ever that here was a battle that he could not lose and he ran with all the burning confidence of a Dark Master who would seek to be a god. This was what he truly wished and which he knew that he could only achieve with the total destruction of Camelot, Avalon and the World of Men.
“Avalon, I am coming for you,” he spoke to the Bowl of Blood that now rocked with the Force of his Will. “I am coming for you and soon you will burn with Fire and Blood. And you, Raven Boy,” the Dark Lord continued his voice rising once more to a scream, “You, Raven Boy, you will be the first to die and it will not be an easy death – that I promise you.”
In the distance the four desiccated figures that were the Dark Riders of the Dark Lord turned their horses and rode hard towards Avalon, Camelot and King Uther Pendragon.
They were the Four Riders of the Pale Horses and they sought only to burn and to destroy – and it felt good - it felt very, very good.
CHAPTER FOUR
DRUIDS’ WOOD
AVALON
The man and the young girl were looking at the dark clouds that were rolling over and around the distant hills of Avalon.
Bright flashes of forked lightning could be seen crashing down onto the hillside and turning to fire everything that it touched with the fingers of its flames.
The man was Gwydion now High Druid and the girl was his daughter, Myfanwy. It was Myfanwy who had been sent to King Uther Pendragon by the then High Druid, Thoran. It had been hoped that the young Druid girl could persuade Camelot’s king to stop the destruction of the Altars of Mithras that were so important for the protection of Camelot and Avalon. It had been a hopeless task.
So hopeless that Myfanwy had barely escaped from Camelot Castle alive. She had then met with Merlin and Galahad at the streams of Manta Gore. The boy enchanter and his friend had needed very little persuasion to join the Druids in their fight against the Lords of Winter who were also known as the Lords of No Defeat.
At that time Draago, the last of the Dragon Kind, Stormrider the golden King of the Unicorns, Firewing the Griffin together with Kraak and Grim had also come to fight alongside the Druids.
It had been a close run thing but the combined Forces of the Old Magic, with the Druids’ aid, and the defeat of the Lords of Winter’s Ice Warrior by Galahad in a desperate and hard-fought sword fight had banished the Lords of Winter beyond the Abyss, from which fearful place there is no return.
The High Druid, Thoran, had been slain in this battle between the Old Magic and the Dark Magic and it was Gwydion who, by a unanimous decision of all the Druids, had picked up the mantle of leadership.
“What is it, father?”
Myfanwy knew that what she was seeing was no ordinary storm but, once again, a manifestation of the Forces of the Dark.
“I’m not sure,” Gwydion replied but one thing that he did know was that was whatever it was that they were seeing, it bore Avalon no good.
“Is it the Lords of Winter?” Myfanwy was well aware that the Lords of No Defeat had been banished across the Abyss.
She also knew that, in these unstable times, the Power of the Dark Magic was ever increasing and that it could well be that the Lords of Winter had found a way to cross back to the World of Men.
It was extremely unlikely but possible, she had to admit that.
“No,” Gwydion confirmed. “They won’t return, Merlin has seen to that and wha
t is gathering over Avalon is very much more powerful than the Lords of Winter.”
“More powerful than the Lords of Winter?”
Myfanwy remembered the hard battle that had been fought to defeat the Lords of Winter. Her blood ran cold at the thought that they might be facing a Power even more dangerous than those Dread Lords.
“Very much more powerful,” her father replied and there was an ominous tone to his voice. “What do you sense, Talen?” Gwydion asked the grey bearded Druid who stood alongside him.
Talen was the most knowledgeable of all the Druids in matters relating to the Forces of the Dark Magic.
Gwydion had no doubt that it was these Dark Forces that were massing in such an ominous manner on Avalon’s borders and Talen was to confirm this.
“There is Great Power there,” Talen answered, “And…,” here Talen hesitated as if choosing his words carefully, “And Great Evil.”
It seemed best to the Druid that he spoke in plain words of the feeling of overbearing darkness that was coming from the thunder-writhen storm clouds.
“And what of you, Dinas?” Gwydion asked the younger Druid who stood with Talen. Dinas had travelled far beyond Avalon and even Britannia’s shores in his Search for Knowledge and Learning.
“It wishes Avalon no good,” Dinas replied. “It brings Fire and Fury and there is something else that stands behind it – an army but of what I cannot tell.”
The young Druid let the Eye of his Mind drift high over Avalon so that it might see that which was hidden. “And I do not think this army is alive,” he told Gwydion with a visible shudder.
“An Army of Spectres?” Gwydion asked. He had heard of such things but always believed them to be nothing more than an ‘old wives tale’.
Dinas tried hard to look beyond the dark thunder clouds but his vision was blocked by the Will of an enormously Powerful Being and there was nothing more for him to see.
“I cannot tell,” Dinas told Gwydion. “It is masked from me.”
“We need….” Myfanwy began to say but her words were drowned by a huge explosion and blaze of white light and then Merlin was stood before her.
“Wooh – impressive,” the Druid girl continued guessing, quite correctly, that the boy enchanter had put on the display for her sake. After all she tended to always announce her own arrivals with a spectacular display of ‘pops’ and ‘bangs’.
Even so Merlin’s face was grave, “It’s the Army of the Dead,” he bleakly told Gwydion. “They stand at the Gates of the Underworld. They are waiting to be released into the World of Men.”
“Merlin,” Myfanwy said for she was truly glad to see the boy enchanter but one look at his worried face told her that this was not a social visit.
“Hello Myfanwy,” Merlin returned Myfanwy’s greeting but his face was deeply troubled and his eyes did not leave the dark thunder clouds and lightning flashes that were, even now, running across the hills and mountains that were the boundaries of Avalon.
“Welcome, Merlin,” Gwydion too recognised that something was deeply worrying the boy. “It is good to see you again,” the High Druid continued.
“It’s the Storm Clouds of the Dark Magic,” Merlin, as usual, came straight to the point. “And behind it stands the Army of the Dead and behind that the Dark Lord himself. They are waiting to enter and destroy everything that is in Camelot, Avalon and beyond.”
“Then we will stop them,” Gwydion told the boy enchanter.
“Merlin shook his head, “I’m afraid you can’t. Only the most Powerful of the Old Magic can defeat the Dark Magic of the Dark Lord and his Army of the Dead.”
“And that means your father, Mithras Invictus,” Myfanwy said.
If anything Merlin’s face looked even more concerned, “My father has left Avalon,” he gravely told the Druid girl. “I’ve no idea where he is, but I do know that he will never return to Avalon nor even to this world.”
For a moment there was silence as the Druids took in the full meaning of Merlin’s words. For as long as they had ever known the Elder god had given his protection to Avalon.
It was a frightening prospect that now Camelot, Avalon and the whole of Britannia were vulnerable to the Dark Forces that had constantly coveted these lands which they wished to bring it to the Underworld – to Hell itself.
“Can you stop the Dark Lord, Merlin?” Gwydion asked.
It seemed an impossible question to put to an eleven year old boy but, after all, Merlin was the son of a god – and the greatest of the Elder gods at that.
“I don’t know,” was Merlin’s truthful reply. “Perhaps, but I’ll need some help.”
“The Druids will give you all the assistance that they can.” Myfanwy knew that she spoke for all of the Druids and she was, after all, the daughter of the High Druid.
“Thank you, Myfanwy,” Merlin said for he had never doubted the courage and loyalty of the Druids. “But it won’t be enough.”
“Gwydion,” now it was Dinas who spoke for the first time since Merlin’s rather spectacular entrance.
There was a mixture of terror and awe in the Druid’s face. “There is immense Power in these Storm Clouds of the Dark. I’ve never felt anything like it before.
“And there is Immense Evil,” Talen put in.
“What can we do to help you, Merlin?” Gwydion was deeply unsettled by what he had just heard but his support for the Raven Boy was, as always, unswerving.
“I need to speak with Herne,” Merlin told him. “I need to speak with the Hunter.”
“Merlin,” the horror could be heard plainly in Myfanwy’s voice. The very idea of Merlin or anyone else coming close to the unstable Herne the Hunter filled her with dread.
“Merlin,” Gwydion was equally horrified at the thought of Merlin confronting the wild and half mad Being that was Herne the Hunter. “Merlin, the Wild Hunt hasn’t ridden for five hundred years,” he continued, “Not since…”
“…Not since he tried to defy my father,” Merlin finished the sentence for the High Druid.
“I wasn’t going to say that,” Gwydion admitted.
“Why not?” Merlin asked. “After all it is the truth.”
“A pretty unforgiving god –your father,” Gwydion added for he was well aware of the harsh punishment handed out by the Bull Slayer to anyone, whether half mad or not, who dared to challenge his authority.
“Why do you want to meet with Herne, Merlin?” Myfanwy’s voice was still filled with great concern.
In her mind no one in their right senses would wish to confront Herne the Hunter but that seemed to be exactly what Merlin was planning to do.
“It’s time that the Wild Hunt rode again,” Merlin told her. “And this time it will ride in defence of Avalon and not to attack it,” the boy added remembering only too well the confrontation between the Hunter and the Greatest of the Elder gods the last time that Herne had sought to hunt for human souls in Avalon.
“But Herne doesn’t care for Avalon,” Gwydion reminded the boy enchanter. “Herne is of the Wild Magic. He favours neither the Old Magic nor the Dark Magic. He despises both of them equally. He exists only to hunt,” the Hugh Druid finished knowing that what he spoke was the truth.
“And I can promise him the greatest Hunting of All Time,” Merlin replied. “I will offer him the Dark Lord, his Dark Riders and the Army of the Dead as his quarry if, for just this once, he will join his Hell Hounds to the Forces of the Old Magic.”
For a moment Gwydion was nearly convinced by what Merlin had just said. Herne’s bloodlust for the kill and his overwhelming desire to hunt as far as the Edges of Creation were well known. “
“It might tempt him,” Gwydion agreed uneasily.
Myfanwy was not a bit reassured by Merlin’s intention to appeal to Herne’s bloodlust. To her the whole idea seemed to be run through with danger. Danger for the boy enchanter if not for the whole of Avalon.
“Isn’t it perilous for even you to confront Herne, Merlin?” Her concern f
or the boy enchanter could be plainly heard in her voice.
“Possibly,” Merlin had to agree. “But it’s the only way we can win – or at least stand a chance of winning. And anyway,” here Merlin gave her one of his rare smiles, “I don’t think that he would risk harming me.”
“Because you are the Bull Slayer’s son?” Myfanwy put in.
“Yes,” Merlin agreed, although personally he had his doubts. Herne the Hunter was unstable enough to try to kill anyone if he felt like it.
As Merlin had once said before and about the Minotaur – Herne’s brains were in his biceps and most definitively not in his head.
“If he will believe that you truly are Mithras’ son,” Gwydion put in.
“That could be a problem,” Merlin admitted.
“But we don’t even know how to contact Herne. He has never had any love for the Druids,” Gwydion knew this to be true.
“I need to use Druids’ Stones,” Merlin told the High Druid. “Herne will hear my summons from there. In fact I’ll make sure he does.”
“I’ll come with you, Merlin,” Myfanwy didn’t know what help she could be but that the boy should face Herne the Hunter on his own was unthinkable to her.
“No, Myfanwy, you won’t,” Merlin told her quite bluntly. “In fact none of you must be anywhere near Druids’ Stones when I summon Herne. He really doesn’t like the Druids very much.”
“And you think that he’ll like you?” Gwydion asked with more than a little doubt in his voice.
“I’m not expecting him to like me,” Merlin agreed, “But I’m hoping that there’s enough of my father in me for him to recognise what I am –or rather could be.”
Merlin knew that, although he might be the son of the cruellest of the Elder gods, cruelty was, thankfully, a trait that he had not inherited from his father.
Just as Merlin had much of his father running through his veins, he also had the gentleness and love for Avalon and the whole of the Land of Mists that he had inherited from his mother, the Princess Ailidh.
“Both Mithras and Herne have great cruelty,” Gwydion said while feeling that he was rather stating the obvious.
Merlin and the Land of Mists: Book Five: The Battle for Avalon Page 3