by Kim Dragoner
“Were you aware that the Pict’s Wall was built by the Romans because of their fear of the Picts?” Alpina asked as they approached the opening in the ancient stone wall that stretched for as far as the eye could see in both directions in front of them.
“I was,” he responded.
“You see,” she continued, “the world’s most powerful army—the one which had conquered Alexander’s empire and even marched into the lands of the northern hoards—could only tremble in the presence of the Picts.”
“It does seem rather odd,” he responded, happy to converse with her in a more civil manner. “What great horror would have caused such trembling; do you suppose?”
“I don’t suppose,” she replied. “I know of it.”
“Please impart that knowledge to me, if you will, since we are just now crossing over that border and into those lands of great horror.”
“The Picts of the Cairngorms,” Alpina began in a hushed tone. “They have a deep secret. They are not of this world; not entirely. Though they inhabit the lands and have built homes upon it, this is not their homeland.”
“Then where are they from?” John asked. He thought back to those strange and wonderful places where Merlin had taken him and his brother knights to hide them. Was it one of those strange lands?
“They are, in part, fae people, though it is very difficult to distinguish them from your average Englishman.”
“Why would that have been particularly terrifying to the Romans?” he asked.
“There were several reasons, really. First of all, whenever the Romans advanced into the Cairngorms, they were surrounded by a perpetual mist, a thick one that would nearly choke them. Imagine yourself in such a blinding fog upon a steep slope, knowing not where your enemy lay. Then, as a lump grew in your throat, you heard the screeching wail of your enemy surrounding you in every direction. Though you stood shoulder to shoulder with your fellow Centurion, you could not keep from trembling as the wailing ceased and the sound of a thousand claymore swords, began to slice through the mist in every direction, whistling like the blades of a thousand churning windmills.”
John, in spite of the fact that he certain that she was adding a great deal of drama just to get under his skin, couldn’t help but feel a faint shiver go through him as the image she was creating began to take root in his mind.
“With a sudden screech, a blue face would appear in front of you. Before you could strike out with either sword or spear, he of the blue face would hack through the armor of your fellow Centurion and then disappear into the mist before your companion’s lifeless body had fully fallen to the sod. And then, while you were still trembling, the fog would lift and you’d find that there was no one about. There’d be nothing but stones, heather and the bodies of your fallen comrades.
“As your troops mustered to march on, nothing but beauty and silence would surround you, but then, when you least expected it, the mist would roll in once more, the wailing would begin and then the whistling of the swords, the blue faces and more death. ’Twas madness that drove the Romans from the Cairngorms; madness and magic.”
“’Twas, indeed,” Merlin’s voice joined in, giving John a start. When he appeared a moment later, he was holding his stomach, having a good laugh at the expense of his surprised guests. “Welcome to Gretna Green.”
Chapter Seven
The woods around the plain were just waking up and the sounds of birds were audible everywhere. Rhys noticed a small herd of deer grazing at the edge of the forest and paused to watch them. They looked at ease. Then he noticed as the stag raised his head suddenly and sniffed the air, then lowered his great horns again to the ground to feed.
It must have heard something, but found nothing on the wind to alarm him, Rhys thought.
And then it happened. Rhys hardly had the chance to bring Richard and Erasmus’ attention to the attack before it was over and the stag had been dragged behind the dark tree line. A huge, black creature had erupted from the forest and pounced on the stag’s back, bringing the deer down under its weight alone. Then, with one dip of its jaws to the neck, the animal was dead and bleeding and being dragged away and out of sight.
“What was that?” Rhys murmured, half to himself.
“I didn’t see it,” Richard replied.
“Neither I,” Erasmus chimed in.
“It was no animal that I have ever seen before. Come on. Let’s get going.”
-The Knights, Men of Earth.
***
“I have watched each and every one of Arthur’s men who has survived their term overseas return home one after the other. Some have come back to ruined lands, others to dead heirs and yet none has hesitated to rejoin the Round Table. I wonder why that is so?” Nimueh asked as she paced the floor of the crystal cave.
She was surrounded by a few of the creatures who had escaped from Arcadia with her and some who had decided to stay on earth or had been left behind after the Battle of Camlann. Among them was her new pet, Cerberus, the hound of hell; she stroked his head and neck tenderly while she addressed the small gathering of her minions.
The dog had become too well known in the countryside of Cumbria. After it had lost its rider and owner, Erandur, King of the Dark Elves, on the battlefield outside Kendal, the animal had become inconsolable. It had fled into the forests and become a menace to the surrounding farms. The repeated slaughter of livestock and men had drawn attention to the northern woods and Nimueh had been forced to track it down and bring it to heel or risk being exposed before she was ready to exact her plans.
“They flock back to him despite their grief, despite their loss. It’s as if the glory of being in service to this king outweighs their personal gains and desires. But I know that this is contrary to the ways of men. All men are selfish at heart.”
“Why then do they follow him so dedicatedly?” one creature asked her.
“I believe that they are all under the beguilement of the sorcerer Merlin, who serves at Arthur’s side.”
“And you wish to destroy this enchantment, mistress?”
“Yes, that is my goal.”
“But how will that help our cause here on earth, Nimueh?” asked a Korrigan who was seated atop a pillar of ice.
“A good question, little one,” the witch replied, smiling. “If Merlin is deposed and I trap him once again inside this cave of crystals, then the magic that will rule the court of King Arthur will be mine. I will have the occasion and the power to convince him of anything I choose and under a new spell, his knights will follow his decisions just the same as they do now.” There was a murmur among the creatures in the little gathering. Cerebus growled deeply to remind them of their place and a hush fell over the crowd. “Then, if I were to tell Arthur to grant free run over the north to the refugees of Arcadia, who would go against my will?”
There was a cheer from the creatures gathered in front of Nimueh and they clapped their hands in approval of her plan.
She smiled and took a seat on the crystal chair that was behind her.
“So that is why my eyes are set on this Sir Jofrit. He has so far been the knight with the longest way to travel on his way home. The opportunities to capture him unharmed will be many and he will travel a long time through the north before he can get to Cumbria.” She took a deep breath before she continued speaking. “When he is incarcerated on the misty island, there will be a search party sent out for him. His son, perhaps a few knights and Merlin. Merlin will definitely accompany them because he will know that there is magic afoot; evil magic. And Merlin cannot resist the call to eradicate evil magic. When he arrives, I will trap them in a trade they cannot win and seal Merlin again in this chamber, only this time he will never escape from it.”
At that moment, the Pict, Dunmor and his twelve brothers entered the crystal cave. They stood to the back of the crowd with their arms crossed and their eyes on Nimueh. She smiled when she saw them enter and take their place.
“You are right on time, Dunmor
… Pict brothers. I was just about to announce the next step of the plan and as you are an instrumental part of that it is quite appropriate for you to have made your appearance now.”
“We are here to serve, Lady Nimueh,” Dunmor said.
“Aye!” his brothers cried in agreement.
“Good, then here is what we must do…”
***
“Miss Alpina,” Merlin said with a sweeping bow. “You seem to be entertaining our young knight with a hair-raising tale of the mists and magic of the Cairngorms. I must say that even I felt a bit of a chill at your telling.”
“I’m doing my part to prepare them for the worst,” Alpina replied.
“You know Miss Alpina?” John asked. He ought to have been beyond marvel at the people and things that Merlin knew, but he couldn’t help himself.
“And a very kind how-do-you-do to you too, Sir John of Leeds,” Merlin chuckled.
“My apologies,” John responded. “It’s good to see you again, Merlin. How do you fair?”
“Quite nicely, thank you,” Merlin replied. “And, yes, I am very well acquainted with Miss Alpina of Auchavan. She is a formal pupil of mine. And a very good one, I might add. She certainly has learned her history well. I particularly enjoy the added drama. History ought to come alive and creep into your bones, don’t you think?”
Merlin moved on to greet the others before John could respond. That certainly solved one of the mysteries surrounding Alpina, but there were plenty more. He looked at Alpina in an entirely new light. For one, she certainly wasn’t a fraud, since she seemed to have the endorsement of the great wizard.
“Sir Thomas,” Merlin said. “It is no wonder that you have ridden along. I understand that your man, Edwin will be administering aid for the people of your fallen brother in Cumbria.” He glanced over his shoulder at John, grinning broadly.
“It is a joint project, sire,” Thomas replied. “The idea and the funding come as much from John as they do from me.”
“Very gracious of you to point that out,” Merlin replied. “It is a noble thing that you have undertaken and I’m certain that Arthur and the others will quickly chip in. No doubt, Cumbria will become the jewel of the realm by the time it is finished, but we must not forget the lands of our other fallen brothers as well. By the way, Thomas, I am neither knight nor lord, so the ‘sire’ is not necessary.”
“Very well,” Thomas answered, somewhat uncomfortable with the informal means of address. “Merlin.”
“Dufton and Chatburn too.” Merlin recognized the two squires. “Well, now, we got, as the French might say, une grande entourage, don’t we? Everyone giddy with anticipation as well, no doubt. Please, come down from those weary beasts and rest yourselves in the grass and shade of Gretna Green.”
The deep grass of Gretna Green was heavenly and the shade of the trees was home to all sorts of birds and squirrels busily scurrying about as they gathered whatever grass, grains, nuts and twigs were needed in their homes. John was mostly at ease. It seemed that Alpina had become a completely different person since their ride from Penrith to Carlisle. He’d wondered if she was only on her best behavior because Merlin was in their company, but recalled that she had seemed in a much more amiable state when they’d left Carlisle that morning. The mysteries that surrounded her still nagged at him, but he wasn’t sure of how to go about solving them. He could ask Merlin, of course, but he wasn’t sure that the wizard would give him a straight answer about her. And asking her, that was certainly out of the question. It would certainly have her bristling unless he went about it correctly. Up to that point, he hadn’t figured out what the correct way of speaking to her was. He could only hope that she would fill in those blank places of her own accord.
“I’ve a quest of my own,” Merlin announced suddenly. The sound of his voice not only intruded upon John’s thoughts but broke the peaceful atmosphere that had them all in a lazy frame of mind.
“Wizards have quests?” Thomas asked.
“We do, indeed,” Merlin responded. “They’re a bit different than those of knights and adventurers, but quests just the same.”
“So, tell us about your quest,” John said in a lazy tone. He’d always enjoyed it when Merlin went into a long oration. To listen to him, no matter what the subject matter, was always a treat to the ears and a challenge to the mind.
“It goes hand in hand with your own, Sir John,” he began. “And it follows not far behind the spooky story that Miss Alpina was relating to you earlier. Perhaps, I ought to allow Miss Alpina the opportunity to share that story with the rest of you before I tell you of my mission at hand?”
“We heard it,” Thomas responded. Wide-eyed, the two squires nodded their consent as well.
“Very well, then,” Merlin said. “How about I fill in some of those things that she did not include in her story? Begging your pardon for stealing your thunder, Miss Alpina.”
“It is quite alright,” she smiled.
“The mists that spread over the Cairngorms are not by accident, but by design. They are not natural in origin, not entirely, anyway. They are from the realm of the supernatural and a bit of magic as well. In centuries past, before a man set foot on this island and before the fae people came to the Cairngorms, there were a vast number of silvery stags with broad antlers scattered throughout the land. Their numbers were so vast, that if one were to look upon this isle from far above, it would go unnoticed as a land mass and only appear as a cloud floating above the expanse of ocean.”
“Like the mist in the Garden of Eden,” Thomas commented.
“Not exactly,” Merlin replied. “However, if that is how you’re able to grasp the image, you’re welcome to it. This mist was a rather unique phenomenon. It came from the antlers of those silvery stags that I mentioned. It was a defense against the great wolves that once roamed this land; not the scrawny things we have now, but massive creatures that might rival in size that mare of yours, Miss Alpina.”
“I can hardly imagine such a creature,” she said with a shudder.
“They were formidable, indeed,” he continued. “However, as strong as they were, they had a great deal of trouble in feeding their cubs, because whenever they were discovered by one of the silvery deer, the stags would begin to run. As they ran, the silvery streams of their antlers would spread the thick fog all about them, blinding the wolves.”
“What became of these wolves?” John asked.
“The story is not so much about the wolves as the stags, Sir John,” Merlin responded. “However, I can tell you that there are certain clans among the Picts, who, after the fae people came, have their ancestry in those wolves, but, as I said, that’s another story.”
The glance that Alpina tossed in his direction was the combination of a smile and a smirk, reminding him that she had told him that the Picts were not entirely of the world they inhabited.
“As the fae people and others began to populate the land, the silvery stags began to disappear,” Merlin continued. “There were among the fae those with the gift of being able to see through the mists and little by little, the silvery stags were taken. Their meat was sweet and their hides were worth a great deal in trade with the Norse, you see.
“But there was something more valuable than all of that, though only a very few truly understood it; wizards, witches, warlocks and the like. That valuable thing was a powder made by grinding the antlers on a unique stone that can only be found in the Cairngorms. With that powder, the bearer had only to spread it onto the wind and a thick fog would rise up. Thus, as I believe was mentioned before, the fogs that surrounded the Romans was intentionally placed there, a tactic used in battle.”
“What has that to do with your quest?” Thomas asked.
“The crux of the story, straight out, huh, Sir Thomas?” Merlin grinned. “There is a bag or purse, if you will, made of the hide of a silvery stag, where the last of this magic powder is kept. It is hidden in a cave, somewhere among those vast numbers scattered about th
e Cairngorms. The bag is known as the spleuchan of the Cairngorms. My quest is to recover the spleuchan and its contents and, Sir John, my suspicions tell me that where we find your father, we will also find the spleuchan.”
Chapter Eight
“Who goes there?” Jofrit called through the thick fog that had suddenly descended on the valley surrounding him. There was silence for a moment and then the sound of rustling he’d heard before came to his ears again. “Show yourself! I’m warning you. It would be better to pass in peace than be found in the treasonous act of attacking a knight of Arthur’s realm!”
Again there was silence but after a few more moments, the rustling returned and that was followed by noisy, heavy footsteps and the neighing of a few horses.
Sir Jofrit listened closely, trying to ascertain where the sounds were coming from. There was some echo in the valley which made that task difficult but he could still figure out the position of his enemies. Before any further words had been exchanged, Jofrit had deduced that he was completely surrounded.
“Looks like we have one of Arthur’s precious knights here, boys,” a voice said tauntingly. “I wonder what the Island Witch would say about a catch like this?”
“A catch?” Jofrit scoffed at the fog surrounding him. “How did you ever come to the conclusion that you’d caught me?”
Suddenly, a dozen rough-looking men stepped out of the thick fog to face Sir Jofrit. He looked around him and confirmed that his instinct had been indeed right. There was not one corner into which he could retreat; not a single direction that wasn’t covered by his would-be attackers.
“This is what you get for riding into unknown lands without an escort, knight,” the man who seemed to be their leader taunted.
“Is that right,” Jofrit retorted, refusing to show them any fear. “What exactly do I get then?”
As soon as the words had escaped from his lips, a wide net sprang into the air and descended over Sir Jofrit. A few of the bandits rushed forward to secure him in its tangles and pull him from the back of his horse. The group’s leader walked forward and took the beautiful silver horse by its reins.