Merlin and the Land of Mists: Book Five: The Battle for Avalon

by P. J. Cormack

  “Achilles, amongst others,” the boy warrior told the knight, remembering how, when he had first arrived in such a spectacular and enchanted manner, Merlin had conjured up the Spirit Warriors of Great Heroes from the Past for Galahad to learn from and rediscover skills that had lain dormant in him.

  Achilles had been one of these Spirit Warriors and the legendary Hero of the Trojan Wars had been the only one that Galahad had been unable to defeat.

  Even so Galahad truly believed that he had learnt more from his defeats at the hands of Achilles than he had from all the other victories that he had won over the rest of Merlin’s Spirit Warriors.

  “That’s impossible,” Sir Lauriston du Lac told the boy for he was fully aware that the great Achilles had died some two thousand years before.

  It was then and with almost consummate ease that Galahad knocked the Knight Commander’s sword out of that knight’s big hand so that it went spinning away to stick blade first into the ground at the boy warrior’s feet.

  “Do you yield, Sir Lauriston du Lac?” Galahad asked the exhausted Knight Commander of Camelot’s armies while placing his sword against the knight’s throat.

  “I do,” Sir Lauriston told the boy for although he still had a long and wickedly pointed dagger at his belt he was more than aware of the fact that the fair-haired boy would run him through before his hand even reached its handle.

  “I do,” the big knight repeated looking the boy squarely in the face. “Kill me, if you wish.”

  With a flick of his foot Galahad sent the knight’s sword rolling back to him but even so his ice-blue eyes had never left the Knight Commander’s gaze.

  “I do not wish to kill you. Take up you sword, Sir Lauriston du Lac,” Galahad told the heavily sweating knight, “And return to Camelot. Tell King Uther Pendragon that Merlin and I fight for Camelot against the Dark Lord. Make him understand that we will not be summoned by him when Avalon has such need of us.”

  Sir Lauriston reached down for his sword, “How do you know that I won’t attack you again?” He asked the boy.

  Galahad held the big knight’s gaze for a heartbeat, “Because you are a good and honourable knight, Sir Lauriston du Lac, that is why.”

  Sir Lauriston bent down and retrieved his sword which he slipped back into its scabbard with long practised ease.

  The big knight bowed once to the fair-haired boy and turned away slowly for there was much that he needed to consider. He was halted in his tracks by Galahad calling after him.

  “Sir Lauriston,” the boy said and there was more than a note of menace in his voice. “Warn King Uther Pendragon to leave Galapas alone. The High Mage too has his Powers.”

  There seemed nothing more for Camelot’s Knight Commander to say so he did not reply but walked over to where his horse was tethered.

  Without looking back he mounted the battle charger and rode away to Camelot.

  Galahad watched him go, “Sir Lauriston du Lac, you and Camelot deserve so much better than King Uther Pendragon.” The boy said almost sorrowfully.

  If the big knight could have heard the boy warrior’s words, he would have been astounded and not a little moved by the genuine regret that was in the boy’s voice.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE UNDERWORLD

  Fire was everywhere.

  Fire that blazed high and was unquenchable for these were the Fires of Hell and this was the Dark Lord’s domain from which there was, and never would be, any escape.

  Here were the legions of devils and demons that waited at the Gates of the Underworld, for this was their last and final hope to return to the World of the Living.

  As they had been uncaring of the suffering and torment that they had brought in their Time on Earth, so were they now doomed to be as Lost Souls.

  Lost Souls whose just desert was the Underworld and the Never-ending Burning Fires of Hell.

  This was the Army of the Dead that the Dark Lord sought to release onto the World of Men and which he knew would be invincible. They could not die for the simple fact that they were already dead.

  Their way out of the Underworld was barred, as it always had been, by the Old Magic that was of the Elder gods. These gods had judged that, as these demons had caused such terror and anguish during their own lifetimes, they were not and never would be fit to enjoy anything but the Eternal Torment of the Eternal Flames that burnt so ferociously throughout the Halls of the Underworld.

  “Not long now, my children, not long,” the Dark Lord’s voice rang seductively out over the sound of the Ever-Burning Flames. This was his Kingdom and he was its Master.

  The Army of the Dead made no sound in response for these were voices that had not been used for many thousands of years. Even so there was a rustle as muscles and sinews that had long been dormant were now moved by the Power of the Dark Magic.

  “Soon you will have a new realm,” the Dark Lord lowered his voice but even so his every word echoed to the Furthest Depths of his Dark Kingdom.

  “You will be free, once more, to ravage and to destroy. Avalon is weakening. Mithras Invictus has departed and his altars are destroyed. Camelot and all that is in it and beyond awaits you.”

  Here the Dark Lord’s voice rose to a scream, “AND WE WILL MAKE IT RUN WITH BLOOD AND FIRE.”

  Again there was a stirring among the Army of the Dead as these skeletal figures seemed to gain a life-force from the very anger and passion of their Dark Master.

  “Just a little longer, my children.”

  Now the Dark Lord’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Just a little longer,” he repeated and then his voice rose again wrought, as it was, with passion and anger. “The Power of the Dark Magic is Gathering. The Storm Clouds of the Dark are summoned and the Dark Riders are Riding. The Dark Magic is coming into its own and no one and nothing may stand against us. This is what I promise you, my children, my Army of the Dead, my Army of the Lost Souls.”

  The skeletal figures began to take on the demonic shapes and forms that they had held when they had been mortal men and women. Their very existence and being was invigorated and given strength by the Will of the Dark Lord.

  “Patience, my children.”

  Once more the Dark Lord dropped his voice for he knew that now was the time that the Dark Magic would come to the Army of the Dead and that it was his Words and his Passion that would unleash this Hell into the World of Men.

  “Soon our onslaught against Camelot and Avalon will begin.” His voice rose once more into the scream of the fanatic, “You, my children, will bring Death and Destruction, Blood and Fire, Murder and Hate, to all who live in Uther Pendragon’s kingdom and beyond and then to the whole of Creation.”

  Now the Army of the Dead gave voice for the Dark Magic of the Dark Lord was running strongly within them and the desire to kill and hurt was once more given free rein.

  Their voices swelled like the thunder of molten lava that runs down from a volcano to burn and destroy everything that stands in its way.

  The Dark Lord turned away from his Army of the Dead for he was content with all that he saw and heard.

  This he knew was his Time.

  The Time of the Dark Magic and the End for the World of Men.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MO DHACHAIDH

  AVALON

  The man who stood in the doorway of Galapas’ house, which was named as Mo Dhachaidh, was big, burly and a Knight of Camelot.

  Galapas guessed, quite correctly, that Camelot’s king had not sent the man to enquire after his health.

  “You are Galapas, once High Mage of Camelot?”

  The man asked in a voice that betrayed a deep uneasiness with the task that King Uther Pendragon had set him. It was also a pretty fatuous question as the knight had known Galapas for a great number of years.

  “I am,” Galapas confirmed, although Galapas, like the knight, was aware that it was a pretty stupid question as the man already knew the answer.

  “I have been sent by King Uther
Pendragon,” the knight continued rather nervously, “To escort you to Camelot.”

  Galapas was not surprised. He had guessed from the man’s obvious discomfort that it would be something of this sort.

  Even so the High Mage limited his reply to just one word.

  “Why?”

  “I cannot say, sir,” the knight answered looking ever more uncomfortable. “But you would be wise not to resist arrest.”

  Galapas noticed that the knight’s hand had automatically dropped to the hilt of his sword. Even so the High Mage was not to be intimidated by a man that he had known for so many years.

  “I am to be arrested?” Galapas asked his voice low and that should have been a warning to the burly figure that stood in the entrance to Mo Dhachaidh.

  “Those are my instructions,” the knight agreed.

  “The King had assured me that I would not be troubled if I left Camelot”, Galapas reminded the knight.

  This was the agreement that the High Mage had come to with King Uther Pendragon, or rather it was what Camelot’s king had decided.

  Whereas Merlin and Galahad were banished from Avalon on pain of instant death the king had stripped Galapas of his title of High Mage of Camelot but had decreed that the mage should be left alone to live a peaceful retirement while remaining at Mo Dhachaidh.

  “Perhaps the situation has changed,” the knight suggested.

  “The king gave me his word, his promise.” Galapas repeated.

  In truth Galapas was not a bit surprised that Camelot’s increasingly unhinged king had broken his word. These days it seemed that King Uther Pendragon barely knew his left foot from his right.

  “I am merely following my orders, sir” the knight replied while looking, if it were possible, even more uncomfortable. The knight was well aware of the broken promise. “Once more I would advise you not to resist arrest,” he continued.

  While speaking these words the burly knight had made the sign against the Evil Eye for it was well known that Camelot’s erstwhile High Mage possessed great and powerful enchantment.

  It was also known that the mage had been, and possibly still was, a servant of the Elder god, Mithras Invictus. That was one god that the knight most certainly did not want to upset.

  “I am only one man,” Galapas replied, “How could I resist arrest?”

  The knight was sweating now for he knew very well that it was not good to offend the servant of the cruellest of the Elder gods. Even so he was determined to carry out King Uther Pendragon’s orders.

  “It is rumoured that you are a mage, or magician,” the knight said while being fully aware, once again, that it was a pretty stupid statement to make to a man who, until very recently, had been High Mage of Camelot. The foremost enchanter in Avalon and probably in the whole of Britannia.

  “Rumoured?” Galapas’ voice was quiet but it carried a warning that the knight knew that he would do well to heed.

  The knight swallowed hard and wished he was anywhere but stood, so uncomfortably, at the entrance to the High Mage’s house.

  He could hear the jangling of horses’ bits as well as the soft murmur of voices from his men who waited apprehensible outside Mo Dhachaidh.

  It had been his duty, as their leader, to enter Galapas’ house. He was experienced enough to know that none of his men would have been prepared to enter the High Mage’s house. That ‘honour’ was his and his alone.

  “Why has the king changed his mind?” Galapas asked in his quiet low voice although, once again, he had a very good idea as to what the answer would be.

  “That’s not for me to say,” the burly knight continued to avoid the High Mage’s gaze while appearing to prefer to look at a spot just above Galapas’ head. He found it impossible to look the High Mage in the eye.

  “Come on, man, I knew your father.”

  Galapas was now rapidly losing patience for he was well aware of what the outcome of this meeting would be – and he was tired of the knight’s constant evasion of his questions.

  The burly knight swallowed hard, “I know, sir,” was all that he would reply.

  “For his sake,” Galapas told the uncomfortable knight, “You owe me an explanation.”

  The burly knight swallowed hard once more and knew that he had no option but to answer the question truthfully.

  “I believe that it is to do,” and here the knight swallowed hard once more, “With a confrontation he had with your ward.”

  “My ward?” Galapas asked in his low voice but he was not a bit surprised for he guessed that it had been the result of something like this.

  It was no secret that King Uther Pendragon and the son of Mithras Invictus hated the sight of one another.

  Even so all he repeated in a questioning manner was “My ward?”

  “Merlin, the Raven Boy,” the burly knight said in a nervous voice.

  “Ah!” Was all that Camelot’s High Mage needed to say for this was exactly what he had expected the answer to be.

  “He cast a spell on the king,” the burly knight told Galapas severely for he did not consider the enchantment of his king to be a joking matter.

  “I see,” was all that Galapas could reply while struggling to keep a straight face.

  “The king could not speak for three days,” the knight continued still not considering this to be anything that should be laughed at.

  “That must have been very inconvenient for the king,” the High Mage agreed.

  “The king could only squeal,” the knight added with a great deal of embarrassment.

  “Squeal?” Galapas queried while thinking that this was nothing particularly new for Camelot’s irascible king.

  “Squeal,” the man confirmed. “The king could only squeal like a pig.”

  It was at this point that Galapas burst into peals of laughter.

  He had tried very hard to keep a straight face but the vision of King Uther Pendragon only being able to squeal rather than to speak was all too much for him.

  The High Mage only wished that he had been there to see Merlin cast the enchantment that had left Camelot’s king in such a state.

  All in all, Galapas decided, the king had got off very lightly, given the fact that Merlin was the son of the cruellest of the Elder gods.

  There was an awful lot more that Merlin could have done to King Uther Pendragon – and none of it would have been very pleasant for the king.

  Even so the burly knight was outraged that the High Mage should find this so amusing, “It’s not funny, sir,” he told Galapas severely.

  “No, no, of course it isn’t,” Galapas agreed while wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes. “Like a pig, you say?”

  The knight decided that it was time for him to take charge of the situation, in fact more than time.

  “I’m afraid that I must insist that you come with us,” he said severely while still being aware that none of his fellow guards had dared to enter the High Mage’s house.

  Once again the man made the sign against the Evil Eye feeling that this was the very least that he could do.

  “And I’m afraid that I don’t feel inclined to,” Galapas told the man in a matter of fact voice as if the matter was not up for discussion – which, in fact, it was not.

  “Sir, you are old,” the knight tried to be as respectful as he could but he had a duty for his king to perform. “Sir, we don’t want to have to use force of arms against you.”

  “Old!”

  Camelot’s High Mage knew that he was not in the first flush of youth but he certainly didn’t consider himself to be old and decrepit. “Old – you say,” he repeated in what could only be described as a very ominous tone.

  “I mean no disrespect,” the knight swiftly backtracked for he realised that he had used an unwise choice of words to a man who had been so highly respected during the reigns of two of Camelot’s monarchs.

  “Don’t worry,” Galapas told the knight quite firmly, “I shall be in Camelot ahead of you.”


  “Sir, I don’t understand.”

  It seemed to the knight that the High Mage was speaking in riddles and the sooner that he had Galapas under arrest and safe in one of Camelot’s dungeons the better it would be for him and his men.

  “I may not have a father for a god,” Galapas told the increasingly worried knight. “But I am not without Power and I would speak face to face with King Uther Pendragon in this. Stand further back man,” he advised the knight, “You don’t want to get burnt.”

  There was more than a hint of warning in the High Mage’s voice and, in spite of himself, the burly knight did step back.

  With that Galapas clapped his hands together and in a burst of flame disappeared.

  For a moment the knight stood unmoving as if not believing the evidence of his own eyes. Then he came alive once more and in a voice that could not be disobeyed called out to the rest of the guards who were still waiting outside the High Mage’s house.

  “Men, to me.”

  Such was the command in the knight’s voice that his men did, finally, find the courage to enter the High Mage’s house.

  But they were too late for there was no sign of Galapas, High Mage of Camelot.

  He had vanished and the burly knight was only too aware of exactly where the High Mage had vanished to.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CAMELOT CASTLE

  CAMELOT

  It certainly wasn’t the sort of entrance that Merlin or Myfanwy would have made but then Galapas had never been one for a great deal of ‘show’.

  It was simply that one moment a very moody King Uther Pendragon was sat gazing out into space and the next his once High Mage of Camelot was stood before him. It might not have been a particularly spectacular appearance but even so it was enough to startle Camelot’s king.

  “Galapas,” seemed to be all that King Uther Pendragon could say.

  It could have been expected that Camelot’s king would have got used to people magically appearing in front of him by now. Apparently he hadn’t.