Shadow Lands Trilogy

by Simon Lister

  Now that the deadly weapon above the gate had been destroyed the Adren came on with renewed purpose. The wooden wall they advanced behind was divided into manageable sections and had a latticework of planks and steps attached to the side facing the Adren so that once they reached the fort it could act as one large scaling ladder.

  Under a ferocious hail of arrows the Adren raced across the last few paces and the combined wall crashed into place against a hundred yard section of the fort. Hundreds more died as they clambered desperately up to the top but there were hundreds more to take their place and the first wave of the enemy finally crashed over the top of the wall and into the Britons. The Britons held the wall against the first fury of the assault but the Adren were crossing the gap in their hundreds, racing to scale the wall and engage the hated enemy. The fighting at the top of the wall was desperate, the Britons had the advantage of position but the Adren kept throwing themselves into the battle and their numbers seemed limitless. There was no possible respite for the Britons and after a few hours of the raging battle Arthur knew he could not hold the wall indefinitely – not against such a continuous attack.

  He shouted to Gwyna who stood in the shield wall. She ran back to him her longbow still held in her hand.

  ‘Take one of the horses and find Ablach! We need his warriors. If they can’t make it here in time then head for the Winter Woods! Do whatever you have to but get me those warriors! Go, now!’

  Gwyna took a last look around her then sprinted across to one of the few remaining horses.

  *

  Ablach was standing on the cliffs overlooking the Causeway when he heard the clash as the two armies met on the wall of the Gates. Below him the fog still stretched out across the Channel Marshes in a white blanket that was lit brightly by the spring sun rising gradually behind him. In the distance he could make out patches of water and marsh grasses where the fog had begun to drift apart. For the thousandth time he turned his eyes to the coral where the Britons of the southern tribes had stabled their horses. There were over three hundred fine horses and the only guards seemed to be children; all he had to do was ride away with them. He could take the horses and then sack Caer Sulis, Caer Cadarn and even the Haven and there would only be a handful of warriors to stand in his way. Britain was his for the taking. Once the Adren came up into the flats behind Arthur then those on the Causeway would be doomed so Arthur would never be able to exact revenge or retribution for the betrayal. Ablach’s only doubt was whether or not the Adren would leave him alone in the northern lands. He may be able to take the South’s wealth but how long could he keep it? He pondered the question as he stared at the horses.

  Ruraidh, his captain who had seen the Adren host in the Shadow Lands, advised against it. He was convinced that only with the southern tribes could they hope to withstand the Adren army but Ablach was not so sure about that and the apparent news that the Cithol seemed unwilling to support Arthur diminished Ruraidh’s argument further in his opinion. Ablach maintained that if the Cithol thought the Adren might leave them alone then it was even more likely they would leave his own people alone. In Ruraidh’s opinion the likelihood that there would be no Cithol army only made it more important that they join with Arthur’s forces immediately.

  The frantic noise of battle rolled through the mist below and echoed against the cliffs drawing most of the Uathach from their camp and to the edge where they stared down to the shrouded Causeway. A light breeze was feeling its way down from the North and the desperate clash of weapons grew and fell on the wind. Many of the warriors cast glances at their chieftain wondering if he had chosen to leave the southern tribes to their fate. The Uathach were evenly divided in their opinion about what was the best course to follow. Some trusted Ruraidh’s judgement and felt their best chance of survival lay with fighting alongside Arthur’s warriors. Many of these had formed friendships with the southern warriors while they had been at Caer Sulis. Others hated the southerners so much that they would rather risk annihilation than lend Arthur any support whatsoever but if Ablach ordered them down into the fog then they would go; not to go would be seen as a craven refusal to join in battle.

  They lined the cliff top and stood and stared for hours and never once did the sound of battle diminish in the valley below. More of the silent Uathach joined Ruraidh’s side. The Britons were holding back an invading horde and the Uathach were restless as they stood idly by while the battle raged on the Causeway without them.

  Ablach remained unmoved. Seren and Terrill had left their tent and enquired of him if the message had been sent and Seren had bluntly asked why the surrounding warriors were not going to Arthur’s aide. Ablach ordered them both to be escorted back to their tent but the nearby warriors felt shamed by her words.

  Before the two protesting Cithol had reached their quarters a cry went up from along the cliff top. Through the clearing mist one of them had seen a rider tearing across the flat land below them and making for the cliff paths. Many recognised her by the long red hair and the shield she still had strapped to her arm and they waited for her at the top of the cliff path as she led her horse up the last hundred yards.

  She made her way straight to Ablach and the Uathach gathered closely around to hear the exchange between daughter and father.

  ‘Thank the gods you’ve arrived!’ Gwyna said still struggling for breath. Her face was sweat-streaked and her clothes were drenched in blood.

  ‘We haven’t just arrived,’ Ruraidh said.

  ‘What?’ Gwyna asked turning to him.

  ‘We arrived some time ago.’

  ‘Then why are you still here?’ Gwyna looked from Ruraidh to her silent father.

  ‘Is Arthur still alive?’ Ablach finally spoke up.

  ‘Yes! You should see him and the others fight, everything we’ve heard about him is true but we’re hard pressed. The Adren can keep putting fresh attackers into the battle while we can only tire. They’ll soon take the East Wall. Why haven’t you joined us?’ She looked around the quiet circle of warriors and many could not meet her eyes.

  Ablach was cursing to himself. Ideally he had wanted Arthur to die early so that he could ride down and rescue the rest of the southern warriors and then merge them into his own army. It was all a question of timing; he needed Arthur dead before the invaders sprang their trap because once the Adren were behind the Britons it would be too late to save any of the southern warriors. If Ruraidh was right then he would need as many of them as possible if he had to defend his land from the Adren.

  ‘Why!’ Gwyna was standing directly before her father and had screamed the question at him. She was thinking about the attack on Arthur that he had engineered at her wedding feast and wondering if he intended to finish now what he had started then. She knew that if he succeeded then her hopes and ambitions would die along with Arthur and the southern warriors. ‘Why!’ she screamed at him again.

  ‘Perhaps he’s waiting for the Adren to spring their trap.’

  Everyone turned to look at the woman who had spoken.

  ‘Who are you?’ Gwyna asked looking at the hooded stranger who had pushed her way forward to join them at the centre of the circle.

  Seren returned her stare. Despite the difference in appearance something about the sweat and blood-stained warrior before her reminded her of the young girl by Arthur’s side in Caer Sulis. Seren had only seen her at a distance and then through a smoke filled hall but she was suddenly sure that the red headed warrior before her was the same girl that had sat by Arthur’s side during his marriage feast. She pulled her hood back and narrowed her eyes against the hurtful brightness of the day.

  Many of the warriors who had not been in Ablach’s tent earlier took a step backwards and cursed at the sight of Seren but Gwyna looked at her levelly.

  ‘I am Fin Seren, daughter of Lord Venning, and I have come from the Veiled City of the Cithol to warn Arthur that the Adren plan to use an ancient tunnel to get behind the Causeway Gates. If they succeed then Arthur w
ill fall, the Veiled City will fall, and wherever you call home will fall too.’

  Gwyna stared at the strange apparition who stood so proudly before them. She found it impossible to gauge the truth of what the girl before had said. She stared at her; the white hair, the perfectly smooth pale skin of her face and the green eyes that showed no trace of white all made it difficult to judge her by any normal standards but her voice carried conviction and defiance and Gwyna believed her. She turned to Ablach, ‘Is what she says true?’

  ‘Who can say with a Cithol witch? And how would the Cithol know of Adren plans?’ Ablach replied but he could feel that the warriors around them were siding with Gwyna. He turned to face them, ‘The rich lands of the South can be ours. Leave Arthur and his rats to die in the trap set for them. Let the Cithol ghosts fend for themselves. Take the southern horses and ride for Caer Sulis! We can steal the Adren plunder long before they can claim it!’

  As he finished another shout went up from those who still watched from the cliff top. The mist had finally relinquished its fight against the sun and wind to leave only an indistinct haze in the distance and patches above the wider waterways. Ablach and the others went close to the edge to look out over the Marshes and what they saw took their voices away.

  Their eyes were first drawn to the ferocious battle that raged over a mile away at the Causeway Gates but it was the Causeway itself that commanded their attention. It stretched out in a straight line for miles until it disappeared into the far haze and for as far as the eye could see it was packed from edge to edge with the Adren host. Thousands upon thousands of Adren were advancing upon the beleaguered Gates.

  ‘You’re a fool Ablach! Do you not see yet?’ Gwyna shouted at him, then turned to the Uathach warriors, ‘I’ve hated the southern warriors as much as anyone here. But they are warriors with honour and they stand below against that horde, and they stand alone! They defend our lands as much as their own! Would you have it said that they defended this land unaided while we bickered and spent our time mending clothes or playing dice? Who here thinks that we can stand alone against that horde once the southern warriors are dead?’

  ‘Why go down there to die with those you despise when you can take their wealth and return home with glory!’ Ablach’s voice drowned out Gwyna as he roared at his men belatedly realising his adopted daughter was threatening to take control of his warriors.

  ‘What glory is there in running for home like beaten dogs trailing behind them what they could steal from the aged and infants?’

  ‘It’s too late! The Adren are on the flats!’ Ruraidh cried out pointing to where the Adren were emerging from a wide subsidence half a mile from the cliff base.

  Seren could only understand the gist of these exchanges and she watched warily as Gwyna turned to her father with a look of murderous hatred twisting her face. Every plan, every hope for the future, every ambition that Gwyna harboured rested upon her life and position with Arthur. If the warriors followed Ablach’s course then Arthur and the South would fall and she would slip back into being nothing and no one. Seren watched in frozen horror as Gwyna slipped her knife from her belt and rammed it up to the hilt in the pit of Ablach’s stomach. As he bent over and staggered forwards she leapt back, drew her sword and with a furious overhead swing she brought it down on the back of her father’s head. Ablach continued his stumble forward and crashed to the ground with the back of his head split open and pouring blood.

  Gwyna drew a shuddering breath and turned to face the Uathach with her sword still dripping her father’s gore. ‘Those of you who wish to flee home do so now but leave behind your swords for those who will fight to protect our lands! The rest of you mount up and take a spare horse. We ride to war!’

  To a warrior they raised their weapons to their new chieftain and roared out, ‘To war!’

  Chapter Twelve

  Seren watched as Gwyna led the Uathach warriors down the cliff path. Each took two horses with them, their own and one from the corral. Below them Arthur fought to keep the Adren from breaching the East Wall of the Causeway Gates but, like the Uathach before her, it was the sight on the Causeway that held her eyes. Between the Gates and the distant haze it was covered by the advancing Adren. It looked to her like a black serpent ponderously heaving its way closer to its trapped prey.

  The wind was from the North and it was still raw and cold. She pulled her cloak closer about her and clutched the hood together below her chin to stop the breeze from lifting it back and exposing her eyes to Terrill. There were so few Britons standing against the hordes of the eastern army and her own people, led by her father, had abandoned them to their fate. Seen from their vantage point it seemed such a hopeless resistance and she felt ashamed. Merdynn had said that every kingdom in Middangeard and those further to the East had fallen to the Adren army and now the Britons too would be overwhelmed and fall before the black serpent that now crawled upon their shores.

  ‘There’s so many of them.’ Terrill echoed her thoughts aloud and his voice was filled with fear and awe as he stared at the endless black column.

  ‘Lazure’s army. And they’ve come for the Veiled City.’

  ‘Perhaps your father was right to treaty with him. There can be no army that could stand against so many!’

  Seren turned to him but her voice was more sad than angry, ‘Would you rather be one of his slaves?’

  ‘Would you rather die?’ he replied, just as heavy-hearted. They briefly looked at each other both unwilling to rehash the argument now that they had seen the reality before them.

  Seren sighed and turned away. ‘Life is worth dying for. Slavery is a death not worth living for.’

  ‘Certainly the Britons thought so. Arthur thought so.’

  ‘Thinks so,’ Seren angrily corrected him.

  Terrill did not think that any of the Britons would make it back to the cliffs but he had no wish to provoke or upset her further. ‘Where do you think they’ll go now, if they escape?’

  ‘Arthur will go to the Veiled City and defend it until the last.’

  ‘Surely it would better if Arthur came nowhere near the city? If he defends the Veiled City then Lazure will think that Lord Venning has betrayed his treaty. He’ll destroy us too!’

  ‘Better that my father betrays his treaty than his people.’

  ‘Didn’t you hear me? Lazure will destroy us!’

  ‘Perhaps not. If we can raise enough of our people then we can stand with the Britons in the Winter Wood. Arthur won’t let Lazure destroy the Veiled City. We must return there and talk to those who would resist Lazure.’

  ‘Go back? We’ve just fled from there!’

  ‘Where else would you suggest we go? We’ve done all that we can here. We’ve delivered the message.’

  Seren had just watched Gwyna kill her own father and then lead the Uathach warriors on their charge to relieve Arthur and she had begun to realise just how inadequately equipped she was to play any useful role in the brutal world that the Britons inhabited. The message that Arthur had sent to her via Terrill said that he ‘did what he must rather than what he wished’ but it seemed to her that the wish must belong to another lifetime now.

  It had been that cryptic message that had spurred her to join Terrill on his journey to Caer Sulis where she had inadvertently witnessed the feast to celebrate Arthur’s marriage to Gwyna, who seemed to her to be a ferocious creature with her wild hair and stone-hard eyes so unlike her own; a creature capable of slaughtering her own father in a fit of rage, a creature capable of leading vicious warriors, a creature capable of being Arthur’s wife.

  Seren realised with a cold and depressing certainty that Gwyna could offer Arthur far more than she ever could. She had delivered the information for Gwyna to act upon and there was now nothing more she could do. She did not belong to this world and she suddenly yearned to be back in the Veiled City, the very place she was due to be exiled from. Accepting the irony she acknowledged that the safest place for her and her unbor
n child was the Veiled City, for that was where Arthur would go next. If he escaped the trap below.

  ‘But how?’ Terrill asked interrupting her thoughts.

  ‘What?’

  ‘How do we get back to the city?’

  Seren shrugged as she looked around the encampment. She saw one of the empty supply carts with its horses still harnessed and pointed to it.

  ‘We’ll take that cart and leave now. If we travel without stopping then we might make the Winter Wood before Arthur does.’

  Seren led the way to the cart and Terrill followed. He did not think there was any possibility of Arthur ever following them to the Winter Wood and berated himself for the thought that immediately followed; perhaps it was best if he did not.

  *

  The fighting was at its fiercest on the walls to either side of the East Gate. Company after company of Adren seethed across the makeshift bridge and around the base of the East Wall pushing those ahead of them up the broad scaling trellis and into the line of defenders above.

  Arthur had withdrawn most of his warriors from the further extremes of the fort and concentrated them where the onslaught heaved around the East Gate in an attempt to have some reserve to replace those killed or too exhausted to continue. He had left only a few bowmen further along the walls and they kept up the volleys of arrows that flew into the massed ranks of Adren as they crowded onto the bridge but he knew now that the battle for the Causeway would be won or lost in the bitter close fighting at the East Gate.

  He never stayed long at any one point but continually fought along the whole breadth of the attack as he sought out the places where the Adren were pressing the hardest. It seemed to each of his warriors that he was never far away from them and just when they thought they must give way before the weight of numbers opposing them he would appear at their side and help to drive the Adren back. They took strength from his presence and fought all the harder but as each hour passed their exhaustion grew and always there were fresh companies of Adren surging forward like an inexorable tide crashing its waves against the wall in a relentless fury.