“Then you don’t truly know your enemy, General.” The hooded figure had chuckled again, sending a chill up Marcus spine.
“Where can we find the rebel?” Marcus had demanded, receiving a sharp, warning glance from Lucius for his prolonged interruption of the business at hand.
“You will go far to the west in Demetae and enter into the Mynyddoedd Preseli. You will find a valley with the Dragon’s-sss Spire rising up out of its-sss head. Travel through the narrow stone gap. On the other side, it will open up into a wide green slope with a blue, stone crag as its-sss crown. It is in the cave of that crag that you will find he whom you seek.”
The hooded creature had spoken no more, he had turned away and left his audience without another word. On the heels of Takud’s exit, Lucius had told him to dispatch a patrol to search for Owain of Silures, but forbid him to be a part of it. Obeying that order had never entered his mind.
He had ridden up several valleys among the Mynyddoedd Preseli, but hadn’t found anything that he could remotely imagine to be a landmark named the Dragon’s spire, however, as he rounded the bend in the narrow valley, which he had ascended at dawn that morning, he saw an enormous pillar of stone with a sharp point looming above him, like the spire of a church.
“The Dragon’s Spire,” he’d breathed the moment that he saw it. To his left, he saw a narrow stone gap and turned his mount toward it, waving the two men with him to follow along. “Stay close and remain alert. We are riding into the lair of our quarry.”
On the other side of the stone gap, just like Takud had described, Marcus saw the wide, green slope that was crowned by a blue, stone crag. Even from the bottom of the slope, he could make out the entrance of the cave. He dismounted and started up the slope with his sword and shield in hand. “Remain here,” he ordered as he crept forward, keeping his eyes locked upon the entrance of the cave.
At the top of the slope before the entrance of the cave, the slope leveled out and he paused a moment to catch his breath.
“You finally came,” the voice said in a low tone. He turned and looked into the very same flaming eyes that he’d seen across the open water of the channel.
Chapter Twenty-three
Suddenly sitting up in her bed, Arthes heart thundered in her chest from the dream that had come to her. Looking to where her husband was typically found beside her, she feared that the dream was already taking place. She slipped from the bed, glancing first at her soundly sleeping son and then rushed out of the chamber with tears already streaming down her face, her pulse throbbing throughout her panic stricken body and a lump in her throat that made it difficult to breathe.
“No! No! No! No! No!” she repeated under her breath as she ran down the dark corridor, not bothering to light a grab a torch and light it. There was no time. She had seen the face of her beloved Owain in her dream and behind it the faceless form of the hooded figure plunging a dagger into him. She had to warn him before it was too late.
When she reached the point where the light from beyond reached into the mouth of the cave, she could already hear the unmistakable sound of steel striking against steel. “Owain! No!” screamed as loud as she could, no longer concerned that she might wake their son.
Rushing into the opening of the cave, she paused a moment before finding the source of the din of battle that gave testimony to her worst fear. There, upon the level ground in front of the cave’s mouth was Owain locked in a battle with the commander of the Legionnaires who had been her captor. Though she had always known that their day would surely come, she had never seen a vision of its outcome until that very morning. She prayed that she would not be too late to stop the death of her beloved.
Though she could not keep her eyes off of the battle that was raging before her, she had to search for the hooded figure. She had to see the dark elf before its dagger took away the light of her love and the father of her hope; the very same hope of Silures and the generations which would come well after the Romans no longer ruled their land.
She searched for Takud in vain as her eyes were continually drawn back to the furious figure of her husband as he battled with Marcus. She was intrigued, terrified and delighted at the same time as she held her breath and witnessed the skillful rage of her husband as he battled with a terrifying equal. Knowing that calling out to him might distract him, she held her breath as she watched the pair battling back and forth across the level ground in front of her, grinding already trampled grass into the soil.
Their swords echoed from the crag surrounding the wide green slope and their ragged breathing reached her ears as she looked on. In one instant, she was certain that Marcus had bested her Owain, but in the next, she was certain that Owain would finish off his foe. In each instance, however, they recovered and continued their battle until Owain stepped upon a stone the size of her fist, his ankle buckled under him and he tumbled backward.
Marcus leapt into action to deliver his fatal blow, but Arthes leapt forward as well, scooping up a club that lie near to her and charging forward. Owain had not given up the fight and slid across the grass, rolling and turned away from the Roman’s attempts to take his life and still trying to deliver a deciding blow of his own.
When Arthes rushed up behind him and delivered the blow with her club across his back, he turned instinctively and thrust his sword at whatever foe had rushed up on him, not realizing that it was Arthes. She stared at him in horror and he returned her stare as the point of the blade plunge into her stomach and she began to fall away.
In the same instant that her fall began, she saw Owain strike out with his sword, saw Marcus’ shocked expression and heard his startled gasp as he too began to fade.
Struggling to see how her beloved had faired and knowing that she still had a warning to deliver to him, Arthes tried to sit up, but found that she no longer had the strength to do so. She opened and closed her eyes in rapid succession already struggling to breathe against the pain the blade had caused. “Owain,” she gasped. “Oh my beloved.” The sound of her voice was barely more than a whisper.
In the next moment, Owain’s face came into view above her. “Arthes, no!” gasped. “No! My love! No! It cannot be! Don’t leave me, my love. We’ll get you to a healer. We’ll keep you alive somehow.”
“Owain! Takud!” she forced out of her throat.
“Yes.” He said in a calm voice, smiling down at her. “I know you saw Takud. I know he betrayed us. That’s why I waited here every day since we returned, my love, but I’ve slain the Roman. We’ve nothing more to worry about. Just stay with me.”
“No!” she gasped again. Breathing was next to impossible and gathering enough together to warn him about what she had seen in her dream was well beyond her. She felt him lifting her from the ground and she shook her head back and forth, knowing that if he rose up with her in his arms he would be left defenseless.
“I must! I must!” he protested, mistaking her shaking head for protests against helping her.
Her mind leapt to Draig who had been sleeping soundly in his bed when she’d left their chamber. The vision of him, made her rally the last bit of strength that was left in her. With an enormous effort, she forced the warning from her mouth.
“Takud! Dagger! Behind you!”
It was as if saying the words had made her nightmare become reality. Helplessly, she saw the faceless, hooded figure of Takud hovering over Owain’s shoulder and saw the dagger lifted above him. Before she could draw in another breath to scream, the dagger was plunging downward between the neck and shoulder of her beloved Owain.
As Owain collapsed on top of her, she saw another horrifying image and heard the demonic screams of Takud as he was engulfed in flames and withered into ashes before her eyes. Trying to turn her head in the direction from which the flames came, Arthes saw only fading light and heard the only the deafening roar of Tristina before darkness carried her away from the reach of dawns rays for eternity.
Chapter Twenty-four
Mynydd
oedd Preseli,
Demetae, 409 A.D.
“You will be leaving me then?” Tristina asked when she saw that he had his packs filled and placed beside the opening of his chamber. Buckled about his waist was Owain’s sword, much to large for the boy’s frame. Tied to his pack was the shield of the Legionnaire along with his sword.
“I must go and claim our land,” he replied in a voice that did not match his youth and with a grave expression that went well beyond his years as well.
“Yes, my son,” she answered. “You must.”
“You and Eriu have prepared me,” he tried to reassure her, though there was plenty of doubt still lingering in his own mind.
“We have done our best,” Tristina replied, just as we did with your father.
“Eriu has told me to trust the people,” Draig ab Owain said. Tristina knew all that Eriu had taught him, but repeating some of those lessons was a form of assurance as he faced the frightening task that lay before him.
“Eriu is right. Your people never betrayed your father and they will never betray you,” Tristina replied.
“How will the people know me?” Draig asked.
“They will know you because of the blessing.”
Draig had known about the blessing and new that as long as his feet were still planted firmly upon the earth of the Dremetae, Silures and Ordivicians whenever the sun set, that blessing would still be upon him. Though he was still apprehensive about what lay beyond the cave, the valley, the Dragon’s Spire and Mynyddoedd Preseli, he knew that he could linger no longer. He stepped toward the dragon who had nursed him beside her own and taught him so many things.
With a forepaw, Tristina touched the top of his head and then lowered her own head to him as well. He reached out and returned the same gesture, the form of affection that he’d shared with her since he’d been big enough to place his hand on her head. Steeling himself against the rising tears and the lump in his throat, he shouldered his pack and started the long walk down the dark corridor toward the opening of the cave, looking back only once toward the dragon.
He paused at the entrance of the cave and went to the stone upon which were carved the names of his father and mother. His mother and father’s ashes had lay there for some time after Tristina had incinerated their bodies. Over the course of time, their ashes had blown upon the wind and been scattered along the wide green slope, but as a reminder, Eriu had carved their names in the stone. He traced the characters of Owain and Arthes with his finger in one last tribute to their memory just like he had done thousands of times. He was thus occupied when he heard his name being called from the sky above.
Within moments, Draig heard the heavy, rhythmic beat of two sets of wings and the sound of Gavyn and Daere landing near him. He stood and faced the two young dragons who had shared his nursery. They had already begun to scuffle, just as they had since they’d learned to fly, each wanting the privilege of carrying Draig on their back.
“Hey. Knock it off,” he chuckled. “I’ll ride on Daere’s back as far as the edge of Mynyddoedd Preseli and upon Gavyn’s back until we reach the head of the Afon Dewi Fawr.”
“Gavyn will get to have you for longer,” Daere protested.
“It’s the same,” Gavyn retorted.
“Fine, then,” Draig announced. “We’ll do it the other way around.”
He knew that Gavyn would not argue the point further. He’d already said that the distance was equal and he would not go back on it. The second leg was slightly further and he had wanted to be with Daere last. It was the reason that he’d suggested things the other way around.
“I could take you further if you want,” Draere suggested.
“Your mother said that neither of you was to go any further.” Though he was sad to be leaving his home, Tristina and his two playmates, he did not want to prolong his goodbye any longer. He slid up onto Gavyn’s back, just in front of his wings and took hold of the rigid comb that ran along the back of his neck. “Let’s go.”
Gavyn lifted him into the air above the green slope just as he’d done many times before. He could see the expanse of the Mynyddoedd Preseli and beyond spread out before him. He looked down one more time and looked toward the opening of the cave where he had one last glance of Tristina before she disappeared from his sight and the expanse of what was to become known as Dumnonia opened up before him.
They landed at the edge of the Mynyddoedd Preseli and he switched to the back of Draere, just like they’d agreed and she carried him forward with Gavyn flying by her side until they reached the head of the Afon Dewi Fawr.
The two dragons landed and Draig slipped from his sister’s back. He touched each of them on the top of their head and said his goodbyes and each of them returned the gesture and then stepped back from them and used the cuff of his shirt to wipe the tears from his cheeks.
“Go on back, now,” he said.
The two dragons did as they were ordered and lifted up into the air, making one low, wide circle around him before they turned back toward their home. The tears that poured from his eyes at that moment were allowed to stain his cheeks as he watched his sibling dragons until they disappeared in the distant sky. He shouldered his pack and turned to follow the Afon Dewi Fawr toward Laugharne.
As he strolled into Laugharne, he noticed that people stopped and stared at him and then whispered to each other. Self-conscious about their behavior, he wondered what they saw in him. He seemed no different than they, but he began to avoid the busier streets and kept his head covered as he made his way toward the docks, just as Eriu had directed him to do.
At the dock, he had been careful to keep his head covered and paid for passage on a ship that was sailing for Cardiff. His silver was accepted from his hand and he directed toward a forward birthing. It wasn’t until sunrise the following day that the ship arrived at the dock in Cardiff and he shouldered his pack to disembark.
With his head still covered, Draig navigated through the streets to the assembling hall where there was a loud commotion voices as those inside argued over who would rule since the Roman’s had boarded ships the day before and began their voyage back to their homeland. Draig, sighed heavily and mustered his strength as he repeated what Eriu had told him to do in his head.
He began to practice the words in his mind and then started to push his way through the crowd toward the front of the hall. I am Draig ab Owain and I have come to claim Dumnonia for my people. He had repeated it at least ten times before he was able to push his way to the front of the assembly. He paused, tried to calm his beating heart, drew in a breath and then called out in as loud of a voice as he could muster.
“I am Draig ab Owain and I have come to claim Dumnonia for my people!”
His words were not heard over the sound of the hundreds of voices in the room, he looked up and started to draw in another breath, as he did, he saw Eriu at the edge of the crowd signaling him to remove his hood. Draig reached up and removed the hood. Immediately those near him stopped talking and stared. Others took notice, turned to look toward him and within the time it takes to draw in a few breathes, the entire hall was silently staring at him.
“I am Draig ab Owain and I have come to claim Dumnonia for me people.”
All around him he saw the people go to their knees. Astonished, he searched the crowd for Eriu, but could not find him.
Epilogue
512 A.D. — The Thirteenth Age of the Glastenning Sisterhood
Preseli Hills,
Western Dumnonia, Wales
As the glow of dawn began to light the eastern horizon over the Preseli Hills, John rose from his bed, gathered together his pack, loaded the mule and mounted his horse to ride up the valley just as the old man had directed him to the night before. He still wasn’t sure if he’d actually seen the old man or if he had only dreamt of him, but he decided that whether real or vision, it wouldn’t hurt to follow his direction.
As dawn spread down the narrow valley to greet him, he felt a strang
e warmth begin to come over him. During the days before, he had been sullen as he rode, but for some reason, on that morning, he felt like humming a tune as he listened to the chorus of blackbirds in the trees along the trail. He rounded a bend in the valley in a bright mood, and then pulled up on the reins suddenly, the tune in his throat stopping instantly.
Before him, at the head of the valley was the Dragon’s Spire, looming over him and pointing straight toward heaven like the spire of a church. He scanned its height in silent awe and then, instinctively, looked to his left. There, just like Erasmus story had laid out, was a narrow stone gap.
With a lump in his throat and his heart hammer out a loud, steady rhythm in his chest, he turned his mount into the stone gap and passed through it. On the other side of the stone gap was a wide green slope. Urging his mount up the slope toward the blue, stone crag that formed its crown, John was well aware that his mouth and throat had become hopelessly absent of all moisture.
At the top of the slope, in front of the mouth of the cave was a flat shelf and John dismounted, dropping the reins of his mount and lead rope of the mule. The two eagerly dropped their heads to graze. Recalling Erasmus’ story, John searched the grassy shelf for a carved stone, which, no doubt, would be impossible to find after more than a hundred years had passed. He was about to give up his search when his eye caught sight of a dim, curved line upon a stone at his feet. Stooping to get a closer look, he was able to make out some very dim characters in the surface of the blue stone. It was enough for him to know that he’d found the stone.
John stood from his examination of the stone and looked toward the gaping, dark entrance of the cave. Having anticipated finding the cave, eventually, he had crafted a torch, which he retrieved from the saddle and lit. Taking in several deep breaths to calm his nerves, he stepped forward into the cave and started down along the long corridor.
The Dragon (Sons of Camelot Book 3) Page 9