“I see that you have got your voice back, sire.”
Galapas was not particularly well disposed to a man that had so recently sent his knights to arrest him and who had broken his promise to leave him alone.
“I blame you for that.”
King Uther Pendragon glared at his once High Mage but there was a note of caution in his voice. He wasn’t too sure just how strong the mage’s powers were and he didn’t fancy spending another three days squealing like a pig.
Galapas deliberately misunderstood the king’s meaning, “For bringing your voice back, sire?” He asked in a mild tone while being careful to keep the smile off his face.
“Don’t be facetious,” King Uther Pendragon spat the words out. “I blame you for Merlin being here in the first place.”
That seemed a very large accusation to the High Mage. Did the king mean that he blamed Galapas for Merlin being alive on the earth or merely for raising the boy at the request of Merlin’s royal mother?
It all seemed a bit confusing but then King Uther Pendragon never seemed to make much sense these days, Galapas thought to himself.
In the end Galapas decided to play the innocent knowing that this was often the best way to act when confronted by Camelot’s volatile king.
“I have no control over Merlin, sire,” and Galapas knew that he certainly spoke the truth. Merlin always had and always would be – well Merlin and would do exactly what he wanted to do.
“That is quite plain to see,” King Uther Pendragon snapped at the mage.
“Perhaps,” Galapas decided to take a more conciliatory manner. “Perhaps if you stopped antagonising him, sire, you might find Merlin easier to live with.”
“Galapas,” Camelot’s king fixed the mage with a very bleak look. “I am his king,” he said as if that was the answer to everything – which it clearly wasn’t.
“And that, sire, is also plain to see.”
Galapas was rapidly thinking that it was a mistake to have come to Camelot and to try to reason with a man who was quite plainly not open to reason.
“Merlin treats me with utter contempt,” the king continued knowing that this was indeed the truth.
“You have threatened him with death, sire,” the High Mage pointed out. “And he is…”
Here King Uther Pendragon cut across Galapas’ words for he knew exactly what was coming, “…I know,” the king said rather wearily, “He claims to be the son of a god.”
“Not claims,” Galapas spoke with more than a great deal of sharpness. “Merlin is the true-born son of Mithras Invictus.”
“And why should I believe this?” The king haughtily asked.
Galapas thought that the very fact that an eleven year old boy had magically appeared in Camelot’s well-guarded Great Throne Room and caused the king to squeal like a pig for three days should have been more than enough proof of Merlin being the son of a god. After all this was not exactly the behaviour of an ordinary eleven year old boy.
The High Mage struggled to keep his temper under control but was not particularly successful. “By the Bull Slayer, have you been blind to all that Merlin has done for Avalon?” Galapas almost shouted at Camelot’s king. “His defeat of the Dark Lord alone proves that he is the son of Mithras Invictus.”
“I am told that on a number of occasions Mithras Invictus was forced to intervene to save Merlin from inevitable death,” King Uther Pendragon said dismissively.
“And that,” Galapas bluntly told his king, “Is the proof that Merlin is the Bull Slayer’s son. The god would not have so acted except to save his son. Mithras Invictus is not known for his mercy. He is the cruellest of the Elder gods and he would normally not give a jot about the death of a mere boy – except that this ‘mere’ boy happened to be his son. He would not have saved you, Uther Pendragon.”
Galapas knew that he spoke the truth for Mithras the Unconquered was a god who liked to see his altars run with blood even if, sometimes, it had been human blood.
In his rush of anger Galapas had accidently dropped the title of ‘king’ and this fact was not lost on ‘King’ Uther Pendragon.
“I am High King of Camelot and Avalon, Mithras’s own kingdom,” King Uther Pendragon was shouting at the High Mage now.
Galapas decided to moderate his speech after all a slanging match between him and Camelot’s king would not be particularly helpful to Avalon’s safety. Even so he felt that he needed to speak the truth and to speak it plainly.
“The Bull Slayer cares nothing for that,” he told his king. “Mithras Invictus has left Avalon and he will never return.”
“Which is why I have given orders that all altars and shrines dedicated to Mithras should be torn down and totally destroyed.” King Uther Pendragon said with a smug expression on his face which Galapas did not particularly like.
“Those altars and shrines form a protective circle around Avalon,” the High Mage told the irate king bluntly. “They were woven from the Old Magic. Your actions, sire,” Galapas continued, “Have greatly weakened Avalon’s defences against the Dark Magic and the Dark Lord.”
“So you say.”
Considering how hard Galapas was trying to get through to King Uther Pendragon just how much Camelot and Avalon were being threatened by the Dark Lord he seemed to be having very little effect.
The High Mage was becoming increasingly frustrated with Camelot’s king.
“I served your father,” Galapas reminded King Uther Pendragon, “And I served your mighty brother, King Ambrosius, who was High King before you.”
“I am aware of that,” Uther Pendragon said while stifling a yawn as if he had heard it all before – which in fact he had.
“Have you not seen the Storm Clouds of the Dark that are gathering on the very borders of Avalon?” Galapas guessed that whatever he said to Camelot’s king it was not going to have any effect. Even so he was determined to persevere. The safety of Camelot and the whole of Avalon was far too important for him to let his personal feelings about King Uther Pendragon make him give up.
“The Dark Lord and his Army of the Dead stand ready to invade Avalon,” the High Mage continued, “And there is nothing that you, King Uther Pendragon, can do about it.”
“And you can?” The king sarcastically asked while examining one of his fingernails with great concentration.
“Not me,” Galapas emphasised. “Not me – but Merlin. Can’t you get that into your head? Only Merlin, the Old Magic and the Druids can protect Avalon from this Onslaught of the Dark Magic – and even they may not be enough,” the High Mage finished with more than a hint of despair in his voice.
“The Druids call me a Deathbringer King,” King Uther Pendragon said with malice in his voice. His dislike of the Druids was well known – even among his loyal supporters.
“And with good cause,” Galapas said but there was no accusation in his voice only a sadness and regret. “I don’t know what happened to make you like this, King Uther Pendragon. Perhaps it is the tendrils of the Dark Lord. All I know is that it bodes no good for Camelot, nor Avalon – nor for you, sire. Now I must go.”
All Galapas’ anger at the king’s order to have him arrested had faded away. He realised that nothing that he said would alter the thinking of Camelot’s king.
The High Mage was filled with a sense of dread at what was happening to Camelot and also a despair that there seemed to be nothing that he could do about it.
“You are going nowhere, Galapas,” King Uther Pendragon said with satisfaction in his voice, “Except to my dungeons and you are going to remain there for a very long time.”
The High Mage looked almost pityingly at the man who sat before him on the High Throne of Camelot.
“You still don’t understand do you, Uther?” Galapas knew that he could say no more and that his Powers were desperately needed elsewhere in this battle to hold off the Dark Lord and his Army of the Dead. “You don’t understand,” the High Mage continued, “You have no power over me and cert
ainly not over Merlin.”
King Uther Pendragon’s face had now turned a very interesting shade of puce red as he shouted at the top of his voice.
“Guards, seize him.”
Galapas, like Merlin before him, just lifted a hand and the guards froze in mid-air, taken out of Time and completely immobile.
“Now King Uther Pendragon,” Galapas told the irate figure that could only glare at him with a thunderous expression on his face but which had no effect whatsoever on the High Mage. “Now I must go to Merlin and fight for Camelot. And be grateful that I do not have Merlin’s powers to make you squeal like a pig for another three days – or even longer.”
“Galapas,” King Uther Pendragon’s voice echoed around the Great Throne Room and with it the guards were once more released into motion.
“Seize him,” the king yelled, if possibly even louder than before.
But there was nothing or rather nobody for the guards to seize.
Galapas had completely vanished from sight.
CHAPTER NINE
DRUIDS’ STONES
AVALON
It was what was called a Hunter’s Moon. A moon so bright that Druids’ Stones were lit almost as clearly as day, but there was no colour here only variations from bone-white to blue of the deepest hue.
Druids’ Stones was a place that was as old as Time itself and was even older, some whispered but never out loud, than some of the gods themselves.
The place had a primeval quality to it that spoke of hidden mysteries and of unknown gods. This had been a place of blood, Merlin understood that, for it shouted loudly out to him of sacrifices and slaughter.
These sacrifices had not been made by the Druids, the boy enchanter knew that for certain. The Druids worshipped in a gentler manner and sought to embrace the land that fed and nurtured them. They did not seek to spill blood and the whole concept of sacrifice, whether human or animal, was abhorrent to them.
There had been many gods here, Merlin could sense that, but none that he knew and certainly not Mithras Invictus. These were gods who had existed when strange and enormous beasts had roamed the Earth and, like these beasts, they had disappeared with the Dawn of Man.
What had caused the obliteration of these huge lizards and other strange creatures, the boy enchanter did not know. Similarly he did not know why the ancient gods had forsaken their land. But this had happened many thousands of years before, in fact many millions of years, Merlin corrected himself.
Now he had more pressing matters that needed his attention. The summoning of Herne the Hunter being his most pressing one.
“Herne, I would speak with you,” Merlin’s voice echoed strongly over and around Druids’ Stones but there was only the gentle sighing of a night-wind in reply.
The boy enchanter knew that this was the only time that Herne could be summoned - at the time of the Full and Hunter’s Moon.
Herne could be called but that did not mean that the Hunter had to obey the summons. Merlin just hoped that he had the enchantment to bring Herne to him.
If that did not work then the mention of the Bull Slayer would be his final resort for there was no love between the cruellest of the Elder gods and Herne the Hunter.
“Herne, Lord of the Hunt, I would speak with you.”
Once again the boy enchanter’s voice echoed over and around the Stones throwing back his words mockingly into his face for that was all the response that there was.
There was certainly nothing from Herne even though Merlin had no doubt that the Hunter was hearing his every word.
Merlin sighed, he had guessed that it would come down to this. If Herne would not come of his own free will then he must be compelled to answer the challenge. Merlin knew that would not be pleasant for either of them.
“Herne in the name of Mithras Invictus, Mithras the Unconquered, Mithras the Bull Slayer, I summon you here. You dare not refuse me. You must obey the Summons of an Elder god.”
Still there was no response.
There was, as before, only the wind that answered the boy enchanter’s call in an almost scornful imitation of his voice as it bounced around Druids’ Stones.
Merlin could feel his temper rising for he knew that he was wasting time that was too precious if Avalon was to survive and successfully repulse the Dark Lord and his Army of the Dead.
“Herne, if you will not come to me then I will summon my father, Mithras Invictus, who will compel you here.”
Merlin knew that he was playing his last card.
He had given the Hunter every chance to answer him and this was very much his final resort.
The boy enchanter just hoped that Herne did not know that the Bull Slayer had left Avalon and would never return.
“Mithras Invictus has no son.”
The voice was deep and rumbling.
It was voice of a Being that was more than a little mad and existed for only one purpose – to drive the Wild Hunt to the very Edges of Reality and even beyond the Abyss itself.
“Mithras Invictus has no son,” the voice repeated and then Herne was there, towering over the boy enchanter and dwarfing Druids’ Stones.
The Being that glared down at the boy enchanter was at least twice the size of any mortal man and was a truly enormous and ancient figure.
Herne’s eyes were yellow and his head was horned like a stag. Whether this was a helmet or Herne’s actual head, Merlin did not know and he certainly did not intend to find out.
The Hunter’s body was covered in tattoos and he wore a type of body armour that had not been seen on Earth for many thousands of years.
“He does,” Merlin replied sensing the Hunter’s mistrust but then he had expected nothing less. “He does have a son and it is me.”
For a moment Herne did not speak or, as Merlin correctly guessed, it took some time for thoughts to slowly make their way through the Hunter’s half-crazed brain.
“You have something of the Bull Slayer’s bearing.”
Herne finally and rather grudgingly admitted. “And yet there is something that is not of the Bull Slayer in you.”
“My mother was mortal,” Merlin told the huge figure that stood before him.
“So,” Herne said slowly and with a good degree of venom, “You are half mortal and you can die.”
Merlin was having none of this. He hadn’t come to Druids’ Stones on this Night of the Full Moon to be intimidated by Herne the Hunter.
“And half-god,” Merlin forcefully told the Hunter. “And I have an Elder god’s powers. I have my father’s powers.”
This also took time to percolate through the Hunter’s brain cells but eventually it seemed to register.
“Then why do you summon me?” The Hunter asked while still looking at the boy enchanter with more than a little loathing.
“Because,” Merlin answered and here he paused for effect. “Because I can offer you Good Hunting, Herne.”
That certainly got Herne’s attention for this was a Being that existed only for the Thrill of the Hunt and the Bloodlust of the Kill.
“Aaaah.”
The Hunter’s voice sighed like the wind but one thing that Merlin did know was that by the mention of ‘hunting’ he had certainly got Herne’s full attention.
“It is time for the Wild Hunt to ride again,” Merlin said, knowing that this would be music to Herne’s ears.
“The Wild Hunt has not ridden for five hundred years,” Herne said and the longing and regret could be plainly heard in his voice.
“That is too long,” Merlin told the half demented Being that towered over him.
“It is too long,” Herne agreed more to himself than to the boy enchanter. Then a craftiness came into the Hunter’s yellow eyes. “How are you called, son of Mithras?”
“I am called the Raven Boy and I am the Dark Child,” Merlin replied.
“I have heard of you, Raven Boy.”
Merlin could almost hear the rusted cogs of Herne’s little used brain churning over.
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br /> “You are a Defender of Avalon,” the Hunter finished as if pleased with himself that he had actually remembered something for once.
“As was my father before me,” Merlin agreed.
Herne turned his massive head to look down at the boy enchanter, “What do you want of me, Raven Boy?” He asked.
“The Dark Lord stands at the very borders of Avalon.”
Merlin knew that this was the hard part for him, to persuade Herne to hunt the Dark.
“When the Dark Lord invades Avalon it will run with Fire and Blood,” he continued.
The Hunter’s voice was dismissive.
“What is this to me? I am of the Wild Magic, I am not of the Old Magic and nor am I of the Dark Magic.”
“But you hunt, Herne,” Merlin said knowing that the Hunter’s love of the chase was everything that governed and had even created Herne’s very being.
“You are the Hunter.” He finished quite simply.
“Yes – I hunt,” Herne tried to sound dismissive but the boy enchanter could see the fire that burned in those strange yellow eyes at the very mention of the word ‘Hunt’.
“And I can promise you such hunting, Herne. Such hunting as you have never known before.”
“Aaah, this I like.”
Once again the Hunter’s voice had the sound of a sighing, winter wind but now Merlin could also hear rising excitement in it.
“The Dark Lord stands at Avalon’s Gates,” the boy enchanter reminded the huge figure that stood before him.
“This you have already said.”
Now the Hunter’s voice cracked out once more and with some venom. Merlin was reminded, if he needed reminding, that he was dealing with a demi-god that was barely sane
“With the Dark Lord,” Merlin continued as if Herne hadn’t spoken. “With the Dark Lord there is a Spectral Army, the Army of the Dead.”
“Aaah,” once more Herne the Hunter’s voice was little more than the exhalation of breath but the boy enchanter could again hear the constantly rising excitement in it.
Merlin and the Land of Mists: Book Five: The Battle for Avalon Page 6