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

by P. J. Cormack

“And,” here Merlin paused for a heartbeat to emphasise his point, “And the Dark Riders.”

  “The Dark Riders,” Herne repeated as if in a trance.

  “Yes, Herne, the Dark Riders,” Merlin could sense the Hunter’s anticipation of what would indeed be great sport – to hunt the Dark Riders of the Dark Magic.

  “To hunt the Dark Riders,” the Hunt was obviously savouring the thought but then his face clouded over and he looked accusingly at Merlin.

  “That would be great sport but I am not allowed to hunt the Dark Riders, Mithras Invictus would intervene – as he has done before.”

  “I can promise you,” Merlin told the towering figure in front of him, “My father will not prevent you, not in this.”

  “That is good.”

  The strange yellow eyes of the Hunter were glowing with anticipation and Merlin wondered if Herne had any sanity left in him at all or if Herne the Hunter was now completely and utterly mad.

  “It is time that the Hell Hounds rode again, Herne,” the boy enchanter let his own voice rise to spur on the bloodlust of the Hunter. “It has been too long, Herne the Hunter. The Wild Hunt must ride.”

  “Yes,” Herne agreed in that strange, sighing voice of his, “It has been too long.”

  “Raise the Wild Hunt,” Merlin felt a little mad himself as he goaded on the huge figure of Herne the Hunter that stood before him.

  “Raise the Wild Hunt and we will give them such a Hunting as they have never seen before. The Dark Riders will run and fly far and wide, even to the Edge of the Abyss and possibly beyond. That will be very great sport for the Wild Hunt and the Hunter.”

  “Yes, it would,” Herne agreed and his eyes looked into the distance as if he could already see the Hell Hounds yelping their way over the sky and towards the Abyss as they hunted down the Dark Riders of the Dark Lord.”

  “Will you ride, Herne the Hunter?”

  Merlin already knew the answer to the question but still it needed to be asked.

  “By the Bull Slayer, I will,” Herne’s strange antlered head shook with excitement as he pictured the Hunt that he and his Hell Hounds were to have.

  “Do I have your word?” Merlin knew that this too had to be asked. Once a creature of the Wild Magic gave its word that was a promise that could never be broken.

  “Yes,” Herne the Hunter told the boy who stood before him. “Yes, son of Mithras Invictus. We will hunt. We will ride – and we will kill!”

  “Raise the Hell Hounds,” Merlin told the Hunter, “And wait for my call Herne. Come when I summon you and the Dark Riders of the Dark Magic will be your quarry. This I, the son of Mithras the Unconquered, promise you and I shall not break my word. I swear that on the blood of my father the Bull Slayer.”

  “And the Army of the Dead?” Herne whispered and Merlin could almost hear the rusty cogs turning over in the Hunter’s brain. As Merlin had said before Herne the Hunter’s brains were in his biceps and certainly nowhere else.

  “They shall be yours as well,” the boy enchanter told him and such was the sincerity of his voice that even a Being as unstable as Herne the Hunter could recognise that here was a solemn oath that could not and would not be broken.

  “It will be Good Hunting.”

  Herne whispered the words for the light of battle and his love of the Wild Hunt was plain to see in his yellow eyes.

  “It will be the Best Hunting,” Merlin promised.

  Herne looked at the boy enchanter as if seeing him plainly for the first time.

  “You are truly your father’s son, Raven Boy.”

  “I know,” was all that Merlin needed to say.

  With that a dark cloud passed over the moon and, for a moment there was only darkness.

  As the light filtered back down to Druids’ Stones the boy enchanter could see that the towering figure of Herne the Hunter had completely disappeared.

  Even so Merlin was quite confident that if he summoned the Hunter and his Hell Hounds they would indeed hunt the Dark Riders to the very Edge of the Abyss.

  The Wild Magic always kept its promises as it was bound to. Even so it had been a difficult encounter for Merlin and one that he was, quite frankly, glad to be over.

  “Phew,” was all that Merlin could say while realising just how much he had been holding his breath when confronting Herne the Hunter.

  Now all the boy enchanter had to do was prevent the Dark Lord and his Army of the Dead entering Avalon and he did not have the slightest idea as to how he was going to do that.

  CHAPTER TEN

  DRUIDS’ CAMP

  AVALON

  For once there was no spectacular explosion or flash of sparkling light as Merlin re-appeared at Druids’ Camp.

  His meeting with Herne the Hunter had left him drained but even so he had the feeling of a job well done. More importantly he had brought Avalon one step closer to safety.

  “Merlin,” the relief on Myfanwy’s face was plain to see. The Druid girl knew that anyone who walked with the Hunter risked their very soul and certainly their sanity.

  “Well met again, Merlin,” it was the Myfanwy’s father, Gwydion, who spoke next and he too had the note of relief in his voice.

  “Myfanwy, Gwydion,” Merlin could sense their obvious pleasure in seeing him once back once more at Druids’ Camp in one piece and with his reason still intact.

  “You look tired,” the Druid girl told him.

  “Just a little,” Merlin agreed, “It wasn’t easy. Herne is pretty deranged.”

  “So, you did meet with Herne the Hunter?” the High Druid asked for it had never been a ‘done deal’ that the Hunter would obey Merlin’s summons.

  “Yes, I did – eventually,” Merlin replied remembering back to the fact that he had been forced to threaten Herne with the very presence of Mithras Invictus himself before the Hunter had appeared.

  “And…” Gwydion asked seeing the faraway look in Merlin’s eyes.

  “And he will hunt the Dark Lord,” the boy told him grimly for he knew that to be hunted by Herne the Hunter was to be driven out of mortal existence.

  “By the oaks,” the relief was plain to be seen in Gwydion’s face for he too knew that Avalon now had at least a chance of survival whereas there had been very little before.

  “How did you get the Hunter to agree to that?”

  “I promised him good hunting,” Merlin said and once more a bleak look came over his face. His encounter with Herne the Hunter was not something that the boy wanted to repeat for a very long time – if ever.

  “The Wild Hunt is going to ride?” Myfanwy’s eyes were like soup plates as she pictured the Wild Hunt that was the Hell Hounds driven across the sky by the huge and fearsome figure of Herne the Hunter.

  “The Wild Hunt will ride,” Merlin told them. “And its quarry will be the Dark Lord, his Dark Riders and the Army of the Dead.”

  A worried look crossed Gwydion’s face for he too knew how unstable the Hunter was, “Will Herne keep his word?” He asked.

  “He is bound by the Wild Magic,” the boy enchanter replied. “He swore an Oath and he cannot be an Oathbreaker - and he can be trusted to hunt.”

  “He certainly can,” Gwydion agreed. “You did well, Emrys.”

  Emrys was the name that his mother had called the boy enchanter for it meant ‘Child of Light’ so that none might guess that Merlin was the son of the darkest of all the Elder gods. It was also the name that had been foretold in the Prophecies of the Druid Lore which were as old as Mankind itself.

  “I prefer Merlin to Emrys,” the boy reminded the High Druid.

  “Well done, Merlin,” Gwydion corrected himself, “Now we have a chance of securing Avalon’s safety.”

  There was a hint of pride in the High Druid’s voice. He knew that Merlin, or Emrys, was fulfilling the High Achievements of the Druid Lore that had predicted him as the Dark Child many thousands of years before any of them had been born.

  “The Hell Hounds haven’t hunted for over five hu
ndred years,” Myfanwy said more to herself that anyone else.

  “So they are going to be pretty hungry,” Merlin put in while feeling that this was probably an understatement.

  “Herne will hunt to the very Edge of the Abyss – and beyond if the will takes him,” Gwydion said with satisfaction.

  “With any luck,” Merlin agreed.

  “What can the Druids do to help you?” Gwydion asked.

  “Use all of your Powers. Put a Shield of Protection over Avalon and Camelot.” the boy enchanter told him. “Hide the country in Plain Sight if possible.”

  “We can do that,” Gwydion agreed. “But it will not hold for long against the Dark Lord.

  “No, it won’t,” Merlin knew only too well that the High Druid spoke the truth. “But it will delay him and there are others who are coming to Avalon in her hour of need.”

  “The Creatures of the Old Magic,” Myfanwy’s eyes sparkled at the thought of seeing Stormrider, the King of the Unicorns, Draago, the Last of the Dragon Kind and Firewing the Griffin once more walking in Avalon and flying across its skies.

  They, like Merlin, were of the Old Magic and would always come to Avalon’s defence and particularly when Merlin the Raven Boy called to them.

  “Exactly,” the boy enchanter said for he knew that he needed to say no more.

  “And what of the Deathbringer king?”

  Gwydion asked, his words bringing them all back to earth with a jolt. “What of King Uther Pendragon? What will he do for the protection Avalon?”

  Merlin made a noise that was not a bit polite.

  “Uther Pendragon will just have his men running around in circles and destroying my father’s altars.”

  “Which are there for Avalon’s defence,” Gwydion bluntly stated what everybody other than Camelot’s idiot king knew to be the truth.

  “If he cared at all for Avalon he would be rebuilding them not pulling them down,” Myfanwy said with some bitterness. “I don’t know why you put up with him, Merlin.”

  Once again the boy enchanter’s eyes clouded over in a way that both Myfanwy and Gwydion knew happened when the boy enchanter spoke with the Voice of Prophecy.

  “Avalon needs something from him.”

  Merlin’s voice sounded distant as if it came through the Mists of Time. “Something that Uther Pendragon will give in his passion and his desire but which he will neither know nor care what he does. From Uther Pendragon comes the Future.”

  Merlin spoke with an absolute certainty and for a moment none of the Druids, not even Myfanwy or Gwydion, felt they could break the silence that had come with Merlin’s prophecy.

  “The Once and Future King,” Gwydion said in a voice that was barely more than a whisper.

  The High Druid knew that the Druid Lore spoke of a mighty Warrior King who would be born to Avalon and Britannia in the hour of their Greatest Need.

  This was the king that had been prophesied from the Beginning of Time. The Battle king who would rise up to defeat all his nation’s enemies.

  He would not then die but would lie sleeping in a Hidden Place on an Island with his knights waiting to be summoned one final time when once more the World of Men was in danger of annihilation.

  “Yes,” Merlin confirmed for he had heard Gwydion’s quiet voice and the awe with which the High Druid he had spoken the words ‘The Once and Future King’.

  “He will be born in Camelot,” Merlin continued, “And he will be the saviour of Avalon and Britannia. A king whose name will thunder out until the End of Time.”

  “And that’s why you let the Deathbringer king live?” Myfanwy said and she also spoke with a low voice.

  Even so she found it hard to believe that this glorious Battle King and the Golden Age that he would bring with him should emanate from King Uther Pendragon.

  “Yes it is,” the boy enchanter confirmed. “Now I must leave you. There is still so much for me to do.”

  “Merlin, can we defeat the Dark Lord?” The boy enchanter could hear the concern in Gwydion’s voice.

  It was a question that he had asked himself many times and one to which he still didn’t know the answer.

  The boy enchanter knew that this was not a time for casting doubts. Camelot’s and Avalon’s survival relied on the Old Magic and the Druids totally believing that the Dark Lord and his Army of the Dead could be defeated.

  To allow a worm of doubt to creep into the minds of Avalon’s protectors was to invite inevitable defeat. The boy also knew that for the safety of Mankind they had to do more than defeat the Dark Magic. They had to obliterate it so that it would be a very, very long time before it could ever threaten the World of Men once more.

  “We have to do more than defeat them,” Merlin told the High Druid. “We need to destroy the Forces of the Dark. They must not be allowed to ever menace Avalon and Britannia again.”

  “Can we do that, Merlin?” Myfanwy asked.

  For all her confidence in the boy enchanter and the Mythical Beasts of Avalon she knew that the Dark Lord carried an immense and terrible Power with him.

  It might be that the Dark Magic was just too strong for even the Merlin and the Old Magic to overcome.

  For all his show of optimism Merlin knew that this was a question that even he could answer and he would not lie to Myfanwy and the Druids.

  “It is possible that we can,” he told the Druid girl. “But it will be close, Myfanwy, it will be very, very close.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AVALON

  The raven landed at Dragons’ Lair which had long been the Home of Dragons but which was now occupied by only one dragon and this dragon was Draago the Last of the Dragon Kind.

  It seemed to the raven that the dragon had been expecting his arrival for Draago was stood gazing out towards the hills of Avalon.

  There was a look of great concern on the dragon’s face for Draago was more than aware of the dark and ominous clouds that were forming all along Avalon’s borders.

  The Last of the Dragon Kind could sense only too well that this was the Coming of the Dark Lord and that this was the Dark Magic risen to its most Powerful and Destructive in this battle for the very Soul of Mankind.

  The raven spoke but a few words and then stood back as Draago extended his huge wings.

  With a roar that spat fire into the wind, Draago, the Last of the Dragon Kind leapt from the craggy heights of Dragons’ Lair and drove hard for Avalon and his Dragon Master, the boy known as the Raven Boy.

  At the same time another raven had flown to the Plain of the Unicorns where Stormrider, the golden king of the unicorns, waited with his unicorn herd.

  They too were stood looking towards Camelot and the borders of Avalon where the Storm Clouds of the Dark were now hurling down balls of lightning that set fire to everything that it touched and which would burn until only rock and total desolation was left.

  Stormrider bent his graceful neck down to hear the raven’s speech then he turned to his herd of unicorns and leapt for the sky. They were the Creatures of the Old Magic and they would fight to the very last unicorn to defend Avalon and the Raven Boy.

  The third raven had the furthest to fly and the hardest to find.

  The Griffins kept themselves very much to themselves and generally shunned the World of Men. Even so they were of the Old Magic and they too would always answer its call.

  The raven landed alongside Firewing and delivered its message and the effect was instantaneous.

  Of all the Griffins Firewing had always been the closest to the World of Men and when he heard that the summons came from the Raven Boy there was no hesitation.

  Firewing had the head of an eagle and the body of a lion. He also had a great loyalty to the Old Magic and its Elder gods.

  With a roar that could be heard many leagues away Firewing also took to the skies and headed for Avalon and Camelot.

  Behind Firewing the exhausted raven watched until the Griffin was only a small dot in the distance.

 
The black-winged bird knew that it had done everything that Kraak had asked to be done. Whether it was enough to stop the Dark Lord and his Dark Magic the raven had no idea.

  All the messenger knew was that the Old Magic and the Mythical Beasts of Avalon were gathering as they had never gathered before.

  This was the Great Rising of the Dark and the outcome of the Battle for Avalon that was to come would shape the World of the Old Magic and the World of Men for a thousand years to come.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE GREAT STONES OF AVALON

  AVALON

  Galahad and Grim gazed uneasily at the dark storm clouds that were rolling ever more ferociously over the boundaries of Avalon, for these were like no clouds that either of them had ever seen before.

  Forked lightning burst down onto the land below and wherever the lightning hit huge all-consuming fires speared up to burn and destroy everything that was in its path.

  It looked, to Galahad, as if these storm clouds were ever-changing and constantly seeking to force a breach in Avalon’s defences and so drive hard and deep into the World of Men.

  The boy warrior wondered whether King Uther Pendragon had yet realised what a colossal mistake it had been to tear down the Altars of Mithras Invictus.

  Galahad guessed not for Camelot’s king was not given to either recognising or admitting his faults.

  A dark speck appeared on the horizon.

  A speck that was moving at a very great speed and which was heading straight for the Great Stones of Avalon where the boy and ghoul stood warily watching its approach.

  Instinctively Galahad’s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword and it was half way out of its sheath before the boy gave a sigh of relief and relaxed.

  Kraak dropped lightly alongside Galahad and Grim for the raven was the dark speck that had been the King of the Raven Kind who had travelled far, as he always would, in his defence of Avalon and the Old Magic.

  “Kraak, at last, what news?” Galahad’s relief at seeing the raven could be heard plain in the boy’s voice.