The Twelve Dragons of Albion

by Mark Hayden

  The quad bike riders dismounted. The one at the back, the only one wearing a helmet, abandoned his bike and walked over to get into the Range Rover. From the other two bikes came a brace of female Druids, complete with (dry) white robes. They stood in a line with their Hunter. I was definitely going to have to explore that anti-rain Charm. On Rhein’s left was a short, slight woman with dark hair and dark eyes, last heard of as the site manager when Davey delivered his logs. It was his mother, Iorwen.

  Her I was expecting, the other one I’d hoped not to see again. On Rhein’s right were the unmistakable curves of Adaryn Owain. At least she wasn’t smiling.

  ‘I’m sorry, Conrad,’ she said. She touched Vicky with her boot. My partner flinched, cut off as she was in Silence. ‘This one, I don’t care about,’ continued Adaryn, ‘but you need to know that there was only one thing I wanted to do less than kill you.’

  ‘Oh? What’s that? Break a nail? Get laryngitis?’

  She looked upset. ‘You tried to help me, Conrad. Thank you for that. The only thing that’s making me kill you is that the alternative was to gargle in bleach. I’m not doing that, not even for you.’

  So that was it – whatever situation she’d gotten into to acquire the Dragon and Lion material was scarier than me, and if we were dead, the Julius manuscript would clear her debts. The image of a sad-faced Rick James handing over the Egyptian Tube at my funeral was a kick in the soul.

  None of this had meant anything to Iorwen or Rhein, who clearly had a very different agenda. It was as thin as a cigarette paper, but if I could widen that gap between them…

  ‘Which one of you bastards killed Surwen?’ said Iorwen. Her looks were exotic, yes. Her voice less so: it had a screechy edge to it that didn’t go with the Welsh accent.

  ‘Iestyn killed her. They died together,’ I said.

  ‘Liar. Iestyn wouldn’t have turned on one of his own,’ she hissed.

  I was furious on Iestyn’s behalf, and I spat on the ground in front of Iorwen, something I’ve never done to a woman before. ‘He was one of ours. He died a Watch Captain, at the hands of your mad friend, Lady Frankenstein. Do you even know what she did to her son?’

  ‘What son?’ said Adaryn.

  ‘Guinevere.’

  ‘Hey?’

  ‘Come on,’ said Iorwen, looking down. ‘We’ve got dinner to prepare.’ She knew. She knew what Surwen had done. The gap between the Druids had just gotten a little bit wider. Everyone jumped when the landscape was lit up by a huge flash of lightning, and everyone except Vicky jumped again when the thunder crashed down.

  Iorwen bent down and grabbed Vicky, hauling her to her feet and patting her waterproofs. When she’d found Vicky’s phone, Iorwen pushed her towards the bikes. Adaryn followed, and Rhein stood his ground.

  I moved to the right, trying to circle round. This forced Rhein to give ground until they were clustered by the bikes and the Volkswagen. One of the quad bikes had an attached trailer, the sort of thing you see Border Collies sitting in on a working farm. Or bales of hay. Iorwen shoved Vicky into the trailer, heaving her legs up and squashing them down. With the quick hands of a master crafter, she tied Vicky down with bungee cords like a sick ewe.

  Iorwen then jogged to the Range Rover. I saw her hand Vicky’s phone through the window and bang on the roof. The 4x4 shot off. Of course – if anyone looked for Vicky’s mobile signal, it would now show up moving away from the Tawe Valley. I hoped that Helen Davies got a good look at the car and its number plate.

  Meanwhile, Adaryn had opened the passenger door of the Volkswagen and pulled the hood off the human goat, revealing the woman we’d identified as Myfanwy from Surwen’s pictures. She did not look happy.

  ‘Thanks for that,’ said Adaryn to Myfanwy. ‘We’ve got them. It’ll be over soon.’

  Myfanwy had been crying under the hood, and she was crying now, her pale blue eyes ringed with red. ‘Stop it. Stop it, Adaryn. Stop it before it’s too late. Enough people have died already.’ Adaryn ignored her completely.

  Someone had ripped the fascia off the passenger door and bound Myfanwy’s hands to the bare metal. Adaryn checked the bindings and said, ‘Here’s your magick, in case you get out on your own.’ She chucked a chain of Artefacts on to the back seat. ‘And I’ll put the key in the ignition. We’ll be back before you die of hypothermia.’

  With that, she slammed the door shut and turned her back on the car, joining Iorwen in walking back to Rhein. Another bolt of lightning struck the hill behind them, and the rain came down even harder.

  I couldn’t risk getting any closer, so I didn’t hear what Iorwen said to her son. I saw her place her arm on his woad-painted shoulder, and I saw her lean up to kiss his cheek. His eyes never left me. She kissed his arm and backed off, climbing on the quad bike that had Vicky prisoner, then driving off into the storm.

  I heard what Adaryn said clearly enough. She waited until Iorwen had gone, then turned to look at Rhein. ‘Kill him,’ she said, pointing at me. ‘Hunt him down and kill him. It’ll get you ready for when Welshfire is released.’

  She turned and got on her own machine without looking back. And then there was just me, Rhein and the rain.

  He lifted his spear and advanced. I retreated. He advanced faster, I retreated as fast as my bad leg would let me. He ran, I turned and ran as fast as I could.

  It wasn’t going to be a fair fight: he had youth, health, Charms and Enchanted weapons. I had a gammy leg and a machete. Oh, and something else – I’d fought for my life before. Several times. He hadn’t, and he’d missed his chance to kill me when I got to the trees alive.

  I crashed through the shrubs and picked the biggest tree to dodge behind. When I turned round, Rhein had slowed down. His shield was suddenly an encumbrance, and a seven foot spear is only deadly when you have a ten foot circle round you. As I’d guessed, all his training had been to face a Dragon in the open, not a desperate man in a forest. He was still quicker than me, though.

  I only dodged the thrust at the last moment, and couldn’t bring up my machete fast enough to strike back. It was time for my secret weapon. I retreated further, running the risk of falling over a root, but getting deeper into the dark recesses of the wood. That was the moment I switched on my torch.

  Rhein closed into a defensive stance, bringing up his shield much faster than I could have closed in to attack. We dodged a bit more, but he knew it was a stalemate. With that light in his eyes, he could never risk a thrust, because he couldn’t see me, and if he missed, I’d get a clear shot at whichever part of his body wasn’t covered by the shield.

  If you’re wondering where the dialogue was, I’d tried that earlier. He would have ignored me, so I was saving my breath. I backed off a few paces and tried to work out if I could get the Taser out before he realised what I was doing.

  And then it was him retreating, not me. I moved my position, keeping the light on him in case he tried to creep behind me, but no, he retreated to the edge of the woods, then turned and ran, loping easily over the grass. I didn’t chase him.

  When he got to the cottage, he planted his spear in a custom holder on the third quad bike and roared off. Only when he was over the hill did I emerge from the trees. If he’d given up the hunt that quickly, the timescales for tonight must be very, very tight, and I had only one hope – Myfanwy.

  She was still staring at the hill where Rhein had disappeared when I got to her, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw me. She looked very, very frightened. I didn’t shine the torch in her eyes, but I did lift the machete, just to make sure she’d seen it.

  ‘What are they doing with my partner?’ I said.

  ‘Ruining everything. Everything.’

  She was the youngest female Druid I’d met, even accounting for their age-defying abilities (I still couldn’t believe that Surwen was older than my mother. Scary). Her hair was soaked, her robe smeared with mud and green stuff, and her limbs had been tied so tightly that I feared for her circulation. G
ive her credit, though: she was working steadily through the rope, using the sharp edge of the metal struts in the door. There was a long way to go.

  ‘Too late for riddles, Myfanwy.’ I lowered the machete, so that it was out of her sight line. ‘I know you’re not happy with what they’re up to, so help me to stop them. I certainly wouldn’t feel any loyalty to someone who tied me up in a car when there was a mad axeman on the loose. Never mind a Dragon.’

  ‘I heard you, you know. Talking to the Pennaeth. I heard everything. He was right about one thing.’

  I was going to give her two more chances to co-operate before I got aggressive, and she’d just used one of them. ‘Right about what?’

  ‘That you stink of the Old Enemy.’

  I looked over my shoulder – a little divine intervention would be useful right now, but there were no hooded figures, no ravens and no one-eyed saviours waiting in the wings.

  ‘I think I’m a long way from the Allfather right now, Myfanwy. I’m not his servant, you know.’

  ‘I know. That makes it worse, because you think you’re doing the right thing.’

  ‘Surely the right thing is saving lives, Myfanwy.’ She’d just used up her last chance, and I think she knew it.

  ‘They’re doing the Blasu Diwethaf. The Last Tasting.’

  That did not sound good for Vicky. ‘They’re not going to eat her, surely?’

  She looked at me as if I were mad. ‘Not them. Welshfire. They’re going to feed her to Welshfire, because Dragons only feed on what they know in the cave. Feeding them humans is a perversion – they’re carnivores, yes, but they’re only killers if you make them that way.’

  ‘How long before they stick the knife in?’

  ‘Alive. She has to be lowered into the chamber alive, so Welshfire can see her Imprint and know her for what she is. She also has to be anointed as food.’

  ‘Who’s going to be up there?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. You’ll never stop them.’

  ‘If you don’t help me try, you’ll have a lot of deaths on your conscience. Who’s going to be up there?’

  ‘Adaryn and Iorwen. They sent the others off in that Range Rover.’

  Others? Surwen hadn’t any record of anyone else in her phone. Never mind, that was for later. ‘What about Rhein?’

  ‘He’ll be going underneath, to the chamber entrance. Once the Diwethaf is complete, he’s going to remove the cap from the tunnel. That will allow a circulation of air. Once the stones are gone, Welshfire can burn through the logs and absorb the magick.’ For the first time, she looked upset. ‘She won’t stand a chance. She’s not nearly strong enough.’

  ‘Vicky is stronger than you think.’

  ‘Not her. Welshfire. The Dragon’s too young – we should have waited another month, at least.’

  So much for sisterly solidarity. ‘Where’s the top of the chimney? I assume that’s where it’s going to happen.’

  She nodded up the valley, slightly to the right. ‘Somewhere up on the moor. I’ve never been. You’ll never find it in time. Iorwen’s too good an Occulter for you.’

  ‘We’ll see. What about the mouth of the tunnel?’

  ‘Follow the road. There’s some cottages and a small quarry behind them. The entrance is there.’

  ‘Thank you. Is there anything else I should know?’

  She shook her head. ‘I won’t help you hurt them.’

  ‘Fair enough. I won’t release you in that case, and you’ll have to hope you’re not in the path of a man-eating Dragon.’

  ‘It would serve me right if I was. Can you do one little thing?’

  I shut the door. ‘If it takes less than ten seconds.’

  ‘Pass me the water from the back. I’m not thirsty, but I do need to pee. Funny what goes through your mind.’

  I took four seconds to check the water for magick, then chucked the bottle in her lap and jogged back to the Mercedes. I stowed the machete in my rucksack and picked up the dowsing rod. This makeshift Dragon nursery had been lashed together in a hurry, relatively speaking, and that meant the Ley lines would be close to the surface. I picked a course that would take me anti-clockwise of the moor, and headed off into the rain.

  It’s not bedtime reading, but The Conduit of Lux is a good general introduction to the transmission of Lux, dowsing and the construction of Ley lines. Chris Kelly had lent me a copy, and I even understood some of it. He’d also let me peek at his map of Wales (Earthmasters don’t give copies).

  A new Ley line is like a new motorway – not something to be undertaken lightly. I knew that the only line through the Brecon Beacons roughly followed the A4067, the road we’d turned off, the road where Helen Davies was waiting. To get Lux to the Dragon chamber, Iorwen must have tapped that line.

  A Ley line can’t go through running water, in the same way that you can’t have a ford on a motorway, so either they’d tunnelled under the Tawe, or they’d put up a quick bridge. The storm wasn’t helping my dowsing skills, but I had Harry’s gift – the yew rod. I gripped the branch and mapped a course parallel to the Tawe in my head, then closed my eyes as much as I could and stumbled forwards, leaving Myfanwy, her car and the cottage behind. I was also putting distance between me and my worst failure as a CO.

  If I hadn’t become overconfident, Vicky wouldn’t have been ambushed, and we’d be waiting in a dry car with Helen for the cavalry to arrive. I’d have to be my own cavalry. Again. At least the new waterproofs were still doing their job. I didn’t panic when nothing showed up. It had to be there. Sooner or later, I’d find it. That would be the easy bit. I’d get there.

  I stopped when I got to a dry stone wall and tried to look back through the rain. The cottage was already out of sight. Ice water trickled down my wrists (you can’t dowse in gloves), and my shoulders slumped. I’m so sorry, Vic. So sorry…

  I took a deep breath and looked right. The wood was still there, still following the river. There was still time for a quick bridge to be hidden by that wood. Come on, Clarke, don’t fucking give up yet. I tossed the yew rod over the wall and heaved myself up. As I swung my leg over, I caught a whiff of barbecue. Not Vicky. Not her. Not yet.

  I scrambled down and picked up the rod, yelping with fright when the Lux pulsed through my arm. Iorwen had run her temporary Ley line along the wall. I could almost hear Chris Kelly sniffing with disapproval at her laziness.

  The power was strong, vibrant, ragged and very close to the surface. Even the densest Welsh farmer would notice something here. Had the Brotherhood of the Dragon leased all the surrounding fields, too? I squared my shoulders and followed the twitching rod along the wall, climbing steadily towards the moor. Rain lashed in from the left, and more lightning struck the hill behind me. My foot sank into bog, and that just spurred me on. Vicky was up there.

  I’d felt power before, but never running like this. With the yew rod in my hands, I felt like I was water-skiing on Lux, and then the Lux leapt up from the ground and flowed into the rod, and from the rod it flowed into me, and I finally understood what it meant.

  All the Works and Artefacts I’d learnt and acquired were conjuring tricks and tools compared to the feeling of the magick itself. With this inside me, I could do anything with reality – like turning the air over my head into a cone. I wove a magnetically charged cone that deflected the rain like an umbrella. Suddenly, I was not getting soaked any more, or not after I angled the top of the cone properly into the wind.

  Hunh. Where had that idea come from? I had absolutely no idea, but that knack of twisting the forces into a cone of air had come from the flow of Lux under my feet, and the same thing was happening on a big scale just ahead of me. Somehow the Work/Charm was being echoed back down the Ley line, just beyond the edges of my consciousness. Was this how Vicky experienced the Sympathetic Echo when she was doing her Sorcerer bit?

  I stopped thinking about the direction the Ley line was flowing and concentrated a bit closer on how it worked, closing my eyes. My Sight was
n’t good enough to understand the structure of the Ley, but I did get two smells: one was sulphur, the other was a sweet pipe smoke, the sort of smell I’d always associate with Grandpa Enderby.

  On top of the moor, they would be anointing Vicky for the Diwethaf. I had to press on, moving a little slower and trying to capture something I’d experienced before: the Earth’s geomagnetic field.

  Could you describe how you move your left hand, and explain how you feel touch? It’s hard, and it’s even harder to explain how I knew that the leaky, badly contained stream of Lux flowing up this hill was dragging electricity in its wake like dust in the slipstream of an lorry on the motorway. Other Ley lines were insulated, but this one was creating an electric current strong enough to deflect a compass needle. This was all very good, but could I use any of it to save Vicky’s life?

  The slope steepened, my breath flagged, then the wall veered right across my path. I didn’t slow down because Iorwen had flattened the stones before she laid the line, blowing them into a heap like Keira had done in Wray when I tried to run her over.

  I was on the open moor now, even more exposed and even more determined. I crouched down and shielded my eyes from the wind. The Ley line had run straight, so far, so I just gazed ahead. Was that a glow? Yes. About three hundred metres ahead, something was glowing in the dusk. I swept the area for other signs of life and found none. I stowed the yew rod in my rucksack and took out the machete.

  The Ley line was my guide and friend up here. If I left its track, I’d lose everything, because Iorwen’s Occulting would take over, and I might find myself walking off a cliff in short order. The closer I got, the more power leaked up through my boots, and there they were: three women in white. And two of them were fighting.

  I broke into a jog. There was no stone rim round this chimney, just the soil scraped back to bare rock and Lightsticks planted in the peat around a hole. Iorwen was struggling to tie a rope round a female Druid while Adaryn stood off, holding something to her chest. Another fifty metres and I could see that the Druid was Vicky – they’d stripped her and shoved her into one of their robes. The back was already stained red with blood from the spear wounds.