Shadow Lands Trilogy

by Simon Lister

  ‘Yes, the fishing boats are gone but we’re still alive and we can still escape from here. First task is to set watchers. I’ve sent Ethain to the wall but I want two or three more up there and we need some lookouts in case they try the cliff paths again. Second, we need to get the injured to the main hall and find out if we still have any healers left among us. Third, get some food going. We need meals and rest.’ Cei looked round for Aelfhelm and Cuthwin. They were nearby and he called them over.

  ‘Help get the wounded into the hall and kill the Adren wounded. Collect all the useful weapons and distribute them among the villagers then throw the Adren dead over the cliffs and build a pyre for our own dead. And I need to know how many we have left who can still fight. Get it all done quickly, we may not have much time before they come again.’

  Cardell started to organise her people while the two Anglians started to search the strewn Breton bodies for those still alive. Cei turned to Merdynn, ‘Where’s Trevenna?’ he asked.

  ‘I think she’s already gone to see to the wounded in the hall.’

  ‘Good. Come with me,’ Cei said and led the way to the end of the promontory.

  The rain seemed to have exhausted itself too and all that was left of the driving downpour was a swirling drizzle that drifted in patches over the coast like a fine sea mist. They reached the far end of the headland and Cei gazed out over the sea. His limbs ached with fatigue and he gripped his upper arm to still a twitching muscle as he pointed out over the sea ice. ‘It’s cracking and thawing.’

  Merdynn saw that Cei was right. He could see long channels of dark water snaking through the ice, and to the West he could see the rippling effect of waves under the breaking frozen surface.

  ‘Just a bit sooner and we could have just sailed away from here,’ Merdynn commented without any trace of bitterness.

  ‘How many do you think we have left?’ Cei asked.

  ‘Perhaps a hundred. Maybe less.’

  The Breton villagers may have been armed and able to defend themselves against the Adren but they were still only villagers and not trained warriors. The Adren that had made the top of the headland had taken a fearful toll among the defenders and more Bretons than Adren lay dead on the puddled and soaked ground of the headland.

  ‘The Adren won’t know that. One good thing about their refusal to retreat is that information doesn’t get back to their commanders. We’ll have to put as many people on the wall as we can to make it look like we can still defend the fortress and then hope the sea ice cracks before they decide to attack the cliff paths again.’

  Merdynn agreed. He was looking to the West. The drifting mist now hid the horizons and closed the world around them but it was definitely lighter in that direction and his thoughts turned to the Causeway. Cei read his mind.

  ‘They’ll be invading Britain soon. How do we escape from here, Merdynn?’

  ‘Oh, I was looking forward to hearing your plan. I thought you told Cardell that we’d escape, must have misheard you.’

  ‘We could try cutting our way through their lines and disappear into the Shadow Lands,’ Cei suggested but without any conviction.

  ‘Hmm. A hundred of us against four thousand Adren, in the open too. No, even if we did manage to surprise them and get through, remember that they tracked us across hundreds of miles through the Shadow Lands. They’d just hunt us down.’

  ‘Is dying here our only option then?’

  ‘No, there is another option.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There is a boat. One boat, more of a skiff really, probably only able to hold three people.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘It’s on blocks behind the wood cutters’ hut.’

  Cei turned to him, ‘That’s right! I remember seeing it. It must have been hauled up here to be repaired over the winter. A few of us could sail it across the sea to Wessex.’

  ‘And bring back two or three Wessex fishing boats.’

  ‘If we could hold the wall for, what? Three or four more days? With the sea ice thawed we could get everyone off the headland without the Adren being able to stop us.’

  ‘If some were left holding the wall against them.’

  ‘Or perhaps we can just melt away without them realising.’ Cei clapped the old man on the shoulder and strode off to inspect the skiff leaving Merdynn to marvel, not for the first time, how even a splinter of hope can rekindle a person’s faith even in the darkest despair.

  Chapter Six

  Gwyna watched as first Mador was carried out of the hall and then as his blood was washed away with a bucket of hot water. She was furious. Murderously furious. She kept her expression neutral and smiled at those nearby but her knuckles were white as she gripped the seat of her chair. Her anger was not directed at Arthur or indeed Mador but towards her father who had told her nothing about this attempt on Arthur’s life.

  Behind the bland expression her thoughts were raging against Ablach. How dare he jeopardise her new position by the side of the warlord? Had Mador succeeded then she would have lost everything and been cast back into the life of relative obscurity where the limitations of her future would only serve to mock her newfound aspirations. As she had grown up in her father’s village of Dalchiaran she had come to resent the smallness of her life. Her youthful ambitions had felt suffocated by the imprisoning horizons that had restricted all that she might accomplish. She had increasingly viewed those around her as weak with no desire or aim to achieve anything more than being able to stand on the tallest pile of dung and throw it at those below them. For as long as she could remember she wanted a better life, a richer life, something more than what she saw as the tallest dung pile and she did not care how she achieved it. She would have willingly plotted, deceived, stolen or murdered to haul herself up and away from the endless and pointless scrabbling that constituted the lives of even the rulers of the northern tribes. She had never imagined that marriage could be the means to realise her ambitions.

  When the opportunity presented itself to sneak into Arthur’s tent and kill him she had grabbed at it as a way to exorcise her burning resentments. She resented the ordered, comfortable life of those from the southern tribes. She resented the possibilities open to them. She resented Arthur’s power and his easy command of those around him, and her resentment was matched only by her envy. If she could not attain that power herself then the next best thing in her estimation was to deny it to the hated southern tribes and so she had tried to kill Arthur. When he had effortlessly denied her that satisfaction she had been more than willing to satisfy another of her needs. She had been surprised that her outward antipathy towards Arthur had masked something deeper and quite contrary. She had certainly not considered or thought that it might eventually lead to an escape from her hated life. Instead she had just abandoned herself to a more primal, driving desire that needed no calculating deviousness and which was not fed by bitterness.

  Arthur was not the first man she had slept with but no previous union had unleashed the pure, violent passion she had experienced that night. She had been under no illusions that it may lead to a more permanent bond between them. Arthur was over twenty years her senior and the Warlord of the Wessex while she was merely a girl from the lawless northern tribes. Even being the daughter of Ablach counted for little outside of her hemmed horizons. As she had rode away from the Causeway Gates after that night with Arthur she had questioned Mar’h about him, trying to find out more of the warlord’s true history and life and what kind of man he really was. Mar’h didn’t know that they had spent the night together and thought her previous venom towards Arthur had transformed itself to a girlish crush so he smiled and indulged her with stories about him. At the time he had no idea that she was his daughter.

  Despite her injured shoulder, Gwyna had been in an unusually good mood on that journey back to Dalchiaran. Somehow the release and satisfaction of her passion had dissipated her bitterness and temporarily freed her from the suffocation of her normal life. She h
ad joked and laughed with Mar’h and over the course of their long journey they had grown to like each other in spite of the many reasons they had to hate each other’s peoples. He thought the change in her was because she was returning home after the nightmare of the Shadow Lands but he could hardly have been more wrong. As soon as she rode into her village she felt the walls of her small life closing inevitably around her once more like an obscuring fog bank rolling in from the coast and she lost sight of the distant horizons that her raised spirits had shown her. The light in her eyes dimmed as they adjusted to the grey reality of her life.

  She had been thrown into complete confusion when Mar’h had been accused of raping her mother so many years ago, long before Ablach married her and, she thought, long before she was born. She liked Mar’h and she associated him with Arthur, one of the few people she privately admired and who represented so much of everything that she wanted for herself. She had begun to harbour hopes that a friendship with Mar’h might lead to further contact with Arthur and perhaps the chieftains of the South, yet now he was accused of raping her mother.

  She had refused to confront the deep and conflicting emotions that events around her were igniting and she had shut herself away from them, unsure what to believe or what to think. Then came the astonishing news that her father was offering her in marriage to Arthur. When Ablach had told her about the proposal she had selfishly and fervently prayed to her gods that the whole issue of Mar’h and Esa would just disappear. She had reasoned that it had been long ago; her mother had got on with her life and married well so why go and endanger the future of her daughter now?

  Suddenly all her ambitions and hopes seemed possible. She could leave behind the dunghills of her home and marry the Warlord of Wessex, a man who in her eyes represented power; a power that she could share. She had known that Arthur would only accept the offer as a way of guaranteeing that the Uathach warriors would stand with him against the Adren but that had not diminished the arrangement in her eyes at all. Gwyna had no naïve notions of love and felt no particular bond with Arthur; as a husband he would do as well as any other man but as a means to achieve all she wanted then she could hardly have hoped to do better. She realised that her father was using her as a pawn in his own personal ambitions but once married to Arthur she would be far more powerful than a pawn. She had her aim set at being Queen.

  Gwyna was furious that her father had jeopardised everything she wanted and was so close to getting. As she stared at the last of Mador’s blood being washed away she found herself wishing it were her father’s. Mador had not been a bad man to her but she knew he was weak; a good fighter but easily led. She turned to look at Arthur beside her. He was talking with Ceinwen who was laughing at something he was saying. She felt a small stab of jealousy and it surprised her for she certainly did not love Arthur. Neither did she have any expectations of loving him but that did not concern her because she was already in love with the possibilities this marriage offered. Perhaps, she thought still watching Arthur and Ceinwen, the two of them had been lovers in the past and she was surprised once again that this thought troubled her. She put her uneasiness to one side telling herself that if he had enough of an appetite to want other women besides herself then good luck to him, just so long as he and everyone else knew that she was his wife and just so long as no one threatened her new found power.

  She studied his face as he talked to Ceinwen thinking that by the time she was his age he may well be dead and if the gods blessed her then she might have a son old enough to take his inheritance but still young enough to need a mother’s guidance. She doubted that the southern council would let her take Arthur’s position when he died but if he could become king then their son would take the reins in due course and then she could make herself the power in the land. She said a quick and fervent prayer to her gods that she would bear a son and the sooner the better. There was no guarantee that Arthur would survive the coming war so she promised herself that she would do as much as she could to become pregnant as soon as possible. Knowing that the majority of women never conceived she muttered another hurried and intense prayer that she would be one of the blessed ones. She had heard the rumours of the various bastards that Arthur was said to have sired so she felt confident that he could father offspring but she resolved to carefully seek out alternative fathers. She needed a child; preferably a son, and it wasn’t important who fathered it.

  The din of the feast in the hall suddenly increased and Gwyna searched the gathering below her to see what had caused it. A brawl had broken out between some drunken Mercians and a group of equally drunken Uathach warriors. She watched as Arthur strode quickly down the hall and into the heart of the melee. Morgund and Ruraidh had followed him and together they heaved the opponents apart before any real damage could be done. Gwyna noted how both sets of brawlers quickly stepped away when they saw who had broken up the fight and she recalled how easily Arthur had defeated Mador. Clearly the tales and stories were true about him. He was a dangerous man and she reminded herself to be careful around him and keep her deeper desires for control and power well hidden from him. She felt Ceinwen staring at her and she turned to her with a smile on her lips that never touched her eyes.

  Ceinwen suppressed a shudder and smiled back. She felt there was something about the Uathach woman, and despite her age she had to admit that Gwyna was a woman and not a girl, something she could not quite define. Whatever quality it was, it made her feel uneasy. The celebrations were reminding her of the last fateful night at Branque too and the memories of Andala and her daughter were haunting her once again. Ceinwen poured herself another cup of wine and left the dais, passing Arthur as he made his way back to Gwyna. She remembered how Arthur was making her feel increasingly uneasy too and shrugged, thinking that perhaps they were well matched after all. She pushed her way through the people thronged about the tables as she looked for Morveren and Morgund. She wanted to forget her past life, forget Arthur, Gwyna, the Uathach and the Adren. If only for a brief time she wanted to forget everything that she had been dwelling on and join her friends in whatever foolishness they were undoubtedly engaged in. When she found them she was not disappointed.

  The feast was due to last for days, not that a bystander could have seen any signs of anyone doing anything other than heading for oblivion by the fastest route possible, but it only lasted for seven hours. The last in the relay of messengers from the Causeway fought his way through the carousing crowd and made his way towards the dais.

  Gwyna saw him before Arthur did and she felt an instant jab of apprehension. The man was heading straight for them and he looked completely sober but clearly exerted. She knew the man was carrying urgent news and it could only be about one thing. The Adren were moving on the Causeway. She cursed quietly to herself and drew Arthur’s attention to the approaching messenger. She asked the gods why this had to happen now and not a few days later, nonetheless she felt a thrill of excitement. This is what it was like to be at the centre of power in the land. News of outside events took ages to reach the villages, if it ever arrived at all, and could rarely be trusted to be accurate yet here she would be among the first to know and she would be right where the decisions were made.

  As the warrior spoke in Arthur’s ear she cast a glance at Ablach and wondered again why he had not brought all the northern warriors to Caer Sulis as he had promised. For a fearful moment she allowed herself to think that he may be planning to renege on the treaty but she told herself that the Adren were as much a threat to Ablach’s lands as they were to Arthur’s and she breathed more easily again. She knew that he had nothing to gain and everything to lose by abandoning the treaty, so surely he knew that too. Gwyna took another gulp from her wine as the panicked moment of uncertainty passed, besides, she reassured herself, not even her father would be mad enough to blatantly betray Arthur.

  The messenger had delivered his news and Arthur leant across and briefly told her what she had already guessed then he beckoned Elwyn a
nd Gereint over to him. He told them to let the chieftains and counsellors know and then to start gathering their warriors from the drunken chaos below. Arthur walked across to Ablach and took him to one side away from the noise and throng of people.

  ‘The Adren are gathering on the far side of the Causeway. The attack will come soon. I’m ending the feast and taking the war bands east. Meet me there with every warrior you can muster. And don’t delay. Remember that your lands depend on it too.’

  Ablach swayed slightly, his eyes glassy with the drink he had consumed. He put a huge hand on Arthur’s shoulder to steady himself and turned his face away as he belched loudly.

  ‘I’ll head for Dalchiaran straight away. That’s where my men are waiting. I’ll gather them and ride for the Causeway. Straight away,’ Ablach replied, slurring his words. He reeled away and started to roar orders to the nearest of his warriors. Arthur returned to Gwyna, his expression cold and his teeth clenched tightly.

  ‘Will you ride with us to the Causeway, stay here or go with your father?’ he asked her.

  ‘I’ll ride with you of course,’ she replied, genuinely surprised by the question.

  Ruraidh approached them and stood before their table swaying slightly. ‘Ablach’s taking most of the warriors back to Dalchiaran but me and some of the others want to ride straight to the Causeway with you,’ he said to them both.

  ‘The same warriors who were with you in the Shadow Lands?’ Arthur asked.

  ‘Yes. We have some scores to settle with the Adren.’

  ‘Ruraidh, I can trust you to take a message north. I want you to take your band and tell the northern tribes just what’s at stake here. Any tribe, clan or village that doesn’t help us at the Causeway I’ll hold to what I promised Ablach.’

  Ruraidh stared at Arthur before replying, ‘What did you promise Ablach?’

  ‘That if he broke the treaty and left us to stand alone against the Adren then I’d destroy the northern tribes.’