‘I shall face Caradoc,’ Brockwell intervened. ‘Maelgwn would not hear of Tory being exposed to such danger.’
Taliesin shook his head slowly. ‘Thee cannot be in two places at once, Calin. Thee must contend with Chiglas’ forces. Tory cannot rally the armies to battle, and my role in this affair can only be implemented from here. However,’ the Merlin held up a finger in promise, one step ahead as usual, ‘thou hast no need to worry about Tory, as she will be wearing this.’ He walked over to the wall and motioned to the only spot along it that was not occupied by computer hardware.
Tory folded her arms, annoyed that he would jest at a time like this. The same thoughts were running through Brockwell’s mind until the Merlin revealed a majestic suit of armour from thin air, and in his hands was a woollen cape that he’d turned inside out.
‘This be the Mantle of Gwydion, son of Don.’ He walked towards Tory with his prize. ‘It renders the wearer invisible, when worn the right way round.’
Tory was speechless as he handed it to her. ‘This was truly his?’ She felt an affinity with it at once, hugging it to her breast.
‘Aye. I have also employed it often.’
‘I have heard of this,’ Brockwell said, just as fascinated by the legend. ‘It be one of thirteen such treasures.’
‘True,’ Taliesin confirmed. ‘Now listen to me carefully, we have not got much time.’
As it was a moonless night visibility on the strait was non-existent, though the pelting rain had eased somewhat. Maelgwn deeply regretted dragging his troops through another ordeal so soon. He’d wanted to set forth for Aberffraw alone, feeling he would have a better chance of going undetected. But Sir Tiernan, superior in years and wisdom, pulled rank on the Prince, insisting they take a more cautious approach.
Thus, in the midnight hour of this stormy night, Maelgwn found himself trying to organise a whole army of men across the torrid strait. I could be there by now, he thought.
‘We shall take one of the long boats, there be less risk of incident,’ Madoc advised.
‘Whatever thee thinks best.’ Maelgwn tried not to sound short with the knight; he was only doing his duty in wanting to protect him.
‘Saxons!’ A cry rang out from one of the distant guard posts. The warning was repeated down through the ranks as the men hurried to board their transport.
‘Make haste,’ Tiernan urged the Prince, as the sounds of battle reached their ears.
Tiernan, Madoc and a band of soldiers guided the Prince swiftly to the vessel. They cast off into the stormy waters and made for the banks of Mon.
As the boats carrying Gwynedd’s soldiers caught up with them, the rain started to pour down. Blinded by the water in his eyes, Maelgwn could see naught of how his men fared back onshore. Yet he could hear their death cries, and was startled when a similar commotion was heard out in front.
The soldiers ahead of the Prince raised the alarm to an impending ambush.
Maelgwn peered into the darkness, shielding his face from the water. He spied a multitude of small craft closing rapidly in on them from Mon. From what he could discern from their appearance, these men were Britons. Chiglas’ troops, no doubt. So Tory was right, he was sorry to concede. The safe crossing of the Menai had momentarily put his mind to rest in regard to her warning. I should have known.
The Prince rose, sword in hand, ready to face the latest onslaught, when Tiernan yanked away the armour from his body.
‘Into the water,’ he commanded over the rising din, pushing the Prince overboard before he could argue.
Madoc helped Tiernan out of his heavy battledress. ‘May the Goddess protect and guide thee both, Sir.’
Tiernan turned to Madoc, hoping he would fare well himself. ‘Fear not, Madoc old friend, we shall overcome.’ Tiernan followed Maelgwn into the stormy waters of the strait.
Madoc turned to view the approaching troops. He quietly appealed to the Spirits of the Otherworld, as he always did before battle, for safe passage for his Prince, his comrades and himself. But Madoc, no longer a young man, could see little chance of his own escape this time. ‘Long live Gwynedd!’
Maelgwn heard the cry and the clash of steel as he rose for air. His heart went out to Madoc and regretted that he’d been unable to stay and fight.
He and Tiernan managed to bypass the action unobserved, as they had both been raised near the sea and were strong swimmers. They agreed it was best to let the current carry them down-river towards Caernarvon before attempting to go ashore since Chiglas’ forces had spread themselves across the lower part of the island.
As he was tossed by waves and showered with rain, Maelgwn found it difficult to accept Tory’s theory that pain was all in the mind. After what seemed an eternity at the mercy of the strait, Maelgwn, exhausted and freezing cold, dragged himself onto land.
Tiernan collapsed beside him, catching his breath. ‘I hope she be worth it, this girl.’
Maelgwn’s head shot up. ‘My father’s life and house art also at stake here.’
‘I know,’ Tiernan said as he got to his feet. ‘But in my experience, only a woman will drive a man to such extremes.’
‘Tory warned me not to leave Aberffraw and of the dangers of crossing the Menai,’ Maelgwn confessed. ‘I fear for her, as she has seen herself engaged in battle with Caradoc. And although I sent her away in Brockwell’s protection, I hesitate to doubt her visions when she hast been proven right about everything else.’
‘Well then,’ Tiernan said as he helped Maelgwn to his feet, ‘we had best steal ourselves a couple of horses and see to the rescue of thy future Queen.’
9
DEATH OF A KING
Katren sat quietly in the dining hall with the rest of the servants, cursing over and over that she hadn’t been born a man. She longed to run her captors through and save Lady Gladys from whatever Caradoc intended. The maid couldn’t bear the thought of any harm befalling the kindly woman. Lady Gladys had become like a mother to her, as indeed she was to all of the younger folk of the house without family of their own. What could Caradoc want with his aging aunt anyway? With most of the army officials still off fighting Saxons at Degannwy, Katren fretted for the household. Sir Gilmore had been badly wounded when he’d refused to surrender to Caradoc’s treasonous intent. She feared for the knight’s life, but could do naught but witness the bound man bleed, as a dozen hefty guards watched over them.
These warriors from Powys didn’t appear to have a compassionate soul amongst them and even with as much gall as she had, Katren was not game to risk aggravating them. Where were Prince Maelgwn, Sir Brockwell and her lady? Could Caradoc have been telling the truth when he boasted that Maelgwn suspected naught, and that by this time tomorrow he, Caradoc, would proclaim himself King of Gwynedd. Yet King Caswallon was still very much alive, thanks to her, and Caradoc would never get past the King’s personal guard.
Katren’s imagination ran wild a moment, her eyes opening wide. By the Goddess! That be why Caradoc hast taken Lady Gladys as a hostage, to get past the guard? Oooh, if only I had trained under my mistress a while longer … Her head awhirl with theories and girlish dreams of chivalry, Katren stared into the firelight. Sir Brockwell shall save us. The Prince’s champion would never allow Gwynedd to fall into the hands of such scum.
Her gaze wandered up over the mantel, coming to rest upon the weapon of Cunedda the Great. It was a double-ended iron sword and was comparative in length to a grown horse. One wielded it with two hands from the centre, defending oneself against an attacker’s blows with a long iron rod between the two deadly blades. Katren sat staring at the weapon, wishing she knew how to use it, when before her very eyes it vanished. Startled, she quickly looked about the room to see if anyone else had noticed. She then turned back to the wall above the mantel to confirm that it was definitely no longer there. Katren had but seconds to ponder what could have become of it when, like a vision from her dreams, Brockwell came bursting through the doors. In one hand he held a beautifu
l sword that bore a white hilt; its blade appeared to be of solid flame. With the other he dragged along one of Chiglas’ soldiers. Katren trembled as her hero let the slain villain drop to the floor.
‘Come forward, if thee dare, and taste Dyrnwyn — the sword of Rhydderch. Which one of thee wishes to die first?’ Brockwell challenged. ‘What, no takers?’ He winked at the ladies, who all appeared more than relieved to see him. As he held in his hand one of the Thirteen Treasures of Britain, Brockwell fancied himself to be invincible and lashed out with confidence at his closest opponent.
Caradoc’s troops towered over him, yet this young swordsman more than equalled their skill and daring. Katren realised that Tory was right in saying that power came from will and had nothing to do with size. Real desire within the heart hast magic power. She recalled the phrase Tory had quoted, feeling that Sir Brockwell was living proof of this. The knight jumped up on the tables to continue his assault with the further advantage of added height. The remaining guards closed in to attack. Katren believed her love would surely die, when, one by one, his attackers were ambushed by an invisible enemy, which violently slashed out and pounded them into submission.
‘The Dragon returns,’ Brockwell taunted, exploiting the old legend. The guards resolved to flee the room but their attempt was thwarted, as whoever approached the doorway died.
From the violent action of the surprise attack, Katren knew immediately that Tory was behind it; she now had a very good idea of where Cunedda’s weapon had disappeared to. Not one to waste time, Katren ran to the side of Lord Gilmore and unbound him. If she didn’t clean and bind his wounds soon they would surely become gangrenous. That was, of course, if he didn’t die from the loss of blood first.
Driven to fits of frenzy, the enemy warriors were sitting ducks, losing their will even to try to compete with the invisible onslaught, or the fiery blade. The last two remaining soldiers, seeing their fate splattered around them, fell to their knees and begged for mercy.
Brockwell, keeping a close eye on them, instructed Selwyn to help blindfold and bind the pair. When this had been accomplished, the knight pressed a button on the side of his sword’s hilt and the fiery blade vanished.
Tory came out from under her magical cape to congratulate him. ‘Brockwell, thou art a true master. High-five!’
Brockwell, familiar with Tory’s gesture, responded with enthusiasm, yet he held her hand firm. ‘Thou art the master, Tory Alexander. I was wrong about thy ways.’
His deep blue eyes nearly drowned her and it was clear that Calin was experiencing some strong emotions. ‘Thee must go,’ Tory instructed. ‘I shall see to thy mother and thy King’s safety.’
Katren, having tended Lord Gilmore as best she could, stood to watch Brockwell depart. She tried not to envy the way he eyed her mistress. One day soon he shall long for me, she vowed, I shall train much harder. To Katren’s great surprise, Brockwell approached her before leaving.
‘How fares Sir Gilmore?’ he placed a hand on Katren’s arm, looking towards his mentor with concern.
‘I think it not be as bad as it looks, but he will need proper attention before long.’ She was elated by his brief touch.
‘Calin, go now!’ Tory urged, growing impatient.
He bowed to the ladies, serving them one of his grins. ‘I shall see thee all at breakfast.’
Katren was quietly dismayed to note that most of the younger maidens sighed as they watched the knight slip quietly from the room.
What a ham. Tory rolled her eyes, turning her attention to phase two of their plan. ‘Alma, see to Lord Gilmore. Selwyn, watch those two and if they move, kill them.’
Selwyn jumped to his duty, taking up a sword from one of the dead. Tory realised she felt no remorse for the men she’d slaughtered, nor did she fear facing Caradoc. She turned to Katren, taking up her hand. ‘Katren, I need thee to guide me to the King’s chambers.’
The inflection in Tory’s voice implied that her request could be dangerous, but Katren’s heart leapt at the chance of some action. ‘It would give me the greatest pleasure, lady.’
Tory smiled, giving her a hug. ‘I have much to tell thee once we have rid Gwynedd of this menace. So let us be done with it. Cara, bolt the door behind us and answer to no one but Katren or myself, understand?’ The young girl nodded in confirmation as she sprang to her feet.
With a dagger resting at the throat of Lady Gladys, Caradoc had easily persuaded the royal guard to throw down their weapons. He had locked the men in the adjacent room and four of his soldiers were now stationed at the door to the King’s chamber. Caradoc instructed them to inform anyone from Gwynedd who wished to enter that he held Lady Gladys and the King inside, and would kill them both upon sighting opposition.
Tory and Katren watched the entrance to the King’s chamber from a doorway down the hall. The four guards were backed well up against the doors and Tory had no chance of slipping between them undetected.
‘Art thou ready, Katren?’ Tory whispered, eager to be done with the task.
‘Aye lady,’ she replied, taking up a jug of mead and goblets.
Tory placed her hands on Katren’s shoulders. ‘Remember, be meek, and as soon as they art distracted make for the dining hall as fast as thou art able.’ Katren gave a firm nod. ‘And most importantly …’ Tory paused to stress, but Katren already knew the punch line and said it with her. ‘…no fear.’ They smiled at their resolve. Tory resumed her invisible cover and followed Katren up the hall.
The guards were immediately up in arms upon sighting a resident of the castle, so Katren stopped some distance from them. She gave a small curtsey, keeping her eyes lowered to the ground. ‘Mead?’ she announced, so timidly the men barely heard her.
‘Good show,’ the most tolerant of them said, beckoning her to approach.
Tory turned the door handle and slipped inside the King’s chamber unnoticed.
Those in the room were staring straight at the doorway, and for a moment Tory was horrified that her magic cloak had failed her. Caradoc held Lady Gladys while Vanora stood at the King’s bedside, swishing some liquid around in a goblet.
‘It be nothing,’ Caradoc resolved, motioning to Vanora. ‘Get on with it, and make sure to kill him this time.’
‘Caradoc, I beseech thee …’ Lady Gladys begged, ‘he be thy father, thy King.’
Caradoc roughly cast her aside. ‘He be neither. If I had my way, Caswallon would die by the sword.’ Caradoc approached the bed to gloat upon his ailing relative.
‘What would thy people think?’ Vanora scoffed sarcastically at his impetuous nature. ‘Besides, father was very specific, best not anger him, save …’
‘Just do it,’ Caradoc hissed, intolerant of these stupid precautions. He wanted to thrust his sword into someone, namely Maelgwn.
The goblet Vanora had been preparing for the King flew abruptly out of her hand, and Caradoc drew his sword.
‘Woman, thou art trying my patience!’
‘It was not me, there be someone else in here,’ Vanora snapped, unnerved as her bottles of poison went crashing to the floor. Then she screeched as she was violently thrown across the room.
‘Bitch!’ Tory felt a wave of numbness come over her, and she started speaking in a voice much harsher and more mature than her own. ‘Caradoc, thou art a festering thorn in my side.’ She moved around as silent as the air itself, so that the mortified Prince could not follow the direction of her voice. ‘Taliesin was right. I should have slaughtered thee at birth.’
‘Sorcha?’ He sounded wary.
‘Did thou really think I would allow my noble husband and his only beloved son to be ruined in such a manner?’ Tory lashed out with her boot to his stomach, followed by a knee to the face that sent him rocketing backwards.
Lady Gladys was speechless, she would have known Sorcha’s voice anywhere. The Great Sorceress had returned to seek vengeance as promised.
Caradoc, his noise bloodied, was foaming at the mouth. ‘Guards!’
he yelled, striking out with his sword but hitting nothing.
Tory managed to score a nice gash across Caradoc’s upper leg before turning to face the guards. As the first two entered she thrust the twin sword forward, and the warrior’s heads were sliced from their shoulders. The third was severely beaten about before colliding with a wall. Tory turned to address the fourth guard, only to find him mysteriously absent. Where is the son-of-a-bitch? Oh shit, Katren.
Tory didn’t have the time to chase him as Caradoc was heading for the King. Oh no you don’t. Under Sorcha’s wilful control, Tory moved to intervene. She slashed a long incision across Caradoc’s back from his shoulder to his hip. ‘Since thou art so fond of pain and fear, I thought thee should become more intimate with it.’ She booted him away from the bed and stood to guard Caswallon. ‘The Dragon wants words with thee, Caradoc.’ Her voice was colder than his glare. ‘So let us await his arrival, without thee forcing me to send thee to thy maker.’
Caradoc lashed out at where he suspected her to be. ‘Cadfer’s dagger did not cut deep enough, Mother. Show thyself, witch and let me finish the job my father started. I know thee for the vulgar adulteress thou art, taking to the bed of thy husband’s brother! Deny that I be the living proof of it.’
Lady Gladys could barely believe her ears; how was it that she had never gotten wind of this scandal? She waited, breathless, for Sorcha to reject his foul claim.
Tory served Caradoc a slight slice to his neck, having crept up on him from behind. She could keep him occupied like this for hours, if that’s what he chose. ‘True, thou art nothing but the bastard son of a treacherous leech,’ Sorcha vexed him back, not bothered at all that he knew about his illegitimacy. ‘But get thy facts straight, boy. I cut my own throat. I did not give Cadfer the chance to take my pleasures from me a second time.’ Tory felt shivers as she was caught up in the memory of Sorcha’s last hours; she had died in this very room.
The Dark Age Page 13