The Dragon's Banner

by Jay Allan

  "Hengist, my friend, we have suffered setbacks, it is true, but we are still stronger than our foes.” Vortigern spoke calmly, seeking to ease his ally’s concerns. “Uther Pendragon is a problem, for his leadership has greatly exceeded my expectations. Indeed, of late he seems like a force of nature, emotionless and impervious to suffering, either his or of those who serve him. He is in some way possessed by a force we do not understand. But we will prevail nonetheless.”

  He looked at Hengist, staring into the barbarian’s blue eyes. "Many years it took me the gain control over Constantine's valet, and to make him the manner of the king's death. Yet despite the poison that should have taken him quickly, Constantine lived for many months more and looked even to regain his vigor for a time. Merlin, I fear, was the source of that last burst of strength, though in the end even he was unable to save the king. I feared for a time that Constantine's wily wizard had discovered my plot, but in the end he was fooled just as they all were.” His lips tensed slightly as he spoke of Merlin, betraying fear of the mysterious old wanderer, but Hengist wasn’t perceptive enough to discern it.

  "Constantine Pendragon, I perceived, was the only man capable of forging such an alliance as we now face, and by Merlin's cursed interference he lived long enough to do so. Still would this coalition have faltered, but unlooked for was his youngest son's force of will, for the kings now follow Uther unquestioningly…and with greater obedience than ever they offered his father, for they not only respect him, they fear him as well."

  Vortigern looked silently at the pewter cup in front of him, still half full of the harsh red wine he favored. He was an old man, older even than Constantine had been, though through his knowledge of the ancient arts he had slowed his decline somewhat. He was of middling height, and though once of powerful build, he had become thinner and frailer with age. His hair was silvery gray and his eyes dark brown, and he was clad in extremely fine red silken robes.

  "We must attack soon, Hengist, for Uther's strength grows with each victory. Indeed, more than his strength, for quickly is Uther Pendragon becoming a legend. We can defeat warriors, we can defeat kings, but men are wont to perform extraordinary deeds when he whom they follow ceases to be a man and crosses into mythical stature. I daresay, an assassin may prove more useful than a score of armies, for the alliance would collapse without Uther, and indeed, his mystique would work then for us. All of the seven kings and their warriors would plunge into despair were their invincible warrior king to die, poisoned by his soup.”

  Vortigern paused and drank from his cup. "Merlin I would also have slain if such can be managed, for he has thwarted me too many times. For though Uther is the tool he uses against us now, and Constantine before him, it is Merlin who is the true enemy and architect of that which stands between us and dominion over Britannia."

  Hengist shifted uncomfortably on his feet, with the barbarian's fear of the mystical. "Who can face a wizard and prevail? For any warrior can my men slay, even Uther Pendragon, but he who can summon sorcery is beyond the powers of men to confront."

  Vortigern was amused by his companion's primitive superstitions. "Merlin is powerful and sly, yet he can be slain as any other man. Old he is, and wise, for he was aged already when I was a but a boy. But a man he is, and though long-lived, only a man. In him are the last vestiges of druidic power, yet these are waning, and with them his strength. And behind his skills and knowledge, he is mortal, even as you and I."

  Hengist still looked nervous, as if they discussed something haunted and unspeakable. He opened his mouth to talk, but managed only a short grunt.

  Vortigern wore an amused grin. "Worry not about Merlin, Hengist. Task yourself to rousing your men, that they might defeat Uther's army in the field. Concern yourself with cold steel and the hands that wield it, and leave the wizard you so fear to me."

  Hengist was stung by Vortigern's taunt, and he flushed with anger. "I fear nothing." He slammed his fist onto the table and turned away.

  Fool, Vortigern thought to himself. Do you remember nothing about how to handle these savages? "Hengist, you are a king and a trusted ally." His tone was coldly calculating, though his far less sophisticated companion did not perceive the manipulation. "Never would I doubt your courage or prowess in the field. I meant only that Merlin is an adversary more suited to my skills, while Uther and his army are best met with your veteran warriors."

  Vortigern's words calmed Hengist's ruffled pride, and the blonde giant turned back to the table and sat down. "Forgive my anger, Vortigern. When we meet his army in the field, I shall personally take the head of Uther Pendragon and present it to you."

  Such pointless bluster, Vortigern mused silently. Working with these barbarians is indeed trying. If you meet Uther Pendragon in battle, he thought, I fear it is your head that will fall, and that toy crown of yours will decorate the mantelpiece in Caer Guricon. "I depend on your valor, my friend." He stood up and placed a hand on Hengist's shoulder. "Though I have some hope that Uther Pendragon might die ere he reaches the field. Prepare your warriors, for soon we will march west and fight the final battle, whether he be alive to lead his host or no." He turned and began walking toward the large double door that led to the main corridor. He paused at the doorway and looked back at Hengist. "But now I have other tasks that await my attention. We shall speak again later." And with that, he disappeared into the corridor.

  "Do you trust him, father?" A large blonde warrior spoke a moment later while walking in from the corridor leading to the kitchens. He was taller even than Hengist, and he had to duck to pass through the doorway without striking his head. He resembled Hengist greatly, for he was Octa, the king's eldest son and heir.

  "Nay, my son." Vortigern thinks we are but stupid savages that he can use as he wills. Alliance has so far been to our advantage, but as high king he will never allow us to retain our rule in Kent, for he is a Christian, or at least all of his lords are. I know not what Vortigern worships in his heart. Perhaps only himself."

  "I can have him seized now, father." Octa was brave, but young and impulsive. "He is within our castle and few of his own guards are present. We could be rid of him and the threat he poses."

  Hengist frowned at Octa's reckless suggestion. "Don't be a fool, my son. You must think before you act. Still we must face Uther Pendragon and the kings of his alliance. A mighty warrior he is, and he will drive us into the sea if he may. No quarter does he give, nor does he compromise with foes. There can be no peace with this king; either he must be defeated and destroyed or we shall be. And he has able allies. Leodegrance, whose army slew your uncle, Horsa. Caradoc, the Visigothic prince. Urien, another warrior-king who cleared the north of Vortigern's allies after Uther broke the siege of his capital.

  "The Britons allied with Vortigern are vital to us, for I fear we could not defeat King Uther without their numbers added to our own. And fighting alongside Uther is Merlin, who they say is a wizard of great power. No force have we to face the conjurings of a sorcerer. We must have Vortigern to deal with Merlin. Perhaps Vortigern's schemings will even work, and Uther and Merlin be slain in their stronghold by an assassin's blade.” Hengist paused, and a wicked smile formed on his lips. “First we must face these foes. Then, once Uther's army is destroyed and Merlin defeated, shall we deal with Vortigern. Then all of Britannia shall be ours."

  Vortigern walked through the corridors of the ancient stronghold that Hengist had claimed as his castle. Like most everything in Britannia that was strong and lasting, it had been built by the Romans. Indeed, some said that the original fort had been constructed by Caesar himself, when first the legions set foot upon the island.

  He continued out into the courtyard and through the main gate, for he had set this meeting to take place where none of Hengist's men might listen. Alone he followed the winding trail that led down from the hilltop stronghold, and soon he was walking through the light woods in the valley below. In about ten minutes he came upon the large black rock that was his marker,
and he turned left and followed a much rougher pathway through the trees and the sparse undergrowth. Finally, he could hear the sounds of a stream and a small waterfall ahead, and he knew he was close. At last, he thought, for my legs are leaden and they ache with pain. As he turned the corner he saw the meandering stream, fed by a four foot high waterfall, and standing on the bank waiting was a man who could have been a younger version of himself…his eldest son, Vortimer.

  Vortimer held his hand up in greeting. "Hail, father. I have waited long for you. Were there problems?" Vortigern's son was clad in a black tunic over a chainmail shirt, and on his breast was emblazoned the red hawk, his father's device. His brown leather boots were covered with mud, and a large greatsword hung from his waist.

  "Nay, my son. None other than bolstering Hengist's courage, for like all our lords, greatly does he fear King Uther."

  "I do not trust these Saxons, father. I feel that only ill will come of alliance with them. And now we have made this pagan a king? Over a Britannic domain? Is this wise? Will it not hinder your relations with the other kings?"

  Vortigern smiled. "Worry not, my son, for I trust our Germanic friends no more than you do. Indeed, a good deal less than you, I would say, for I have lived among them for some time, and I know their ways. Or rather, I trust them to behave as I expect, which is treacherously. But we need not worry about that now, for they cannot face Uther alone, and they are terrified of Merlin, whom their fears have made into the Devil himself. They will make no move against us until the armies of the alliance are destroyed and Uther Pendragon and Merlin are put to the sword. And before the Saxons can strike against us, I shall already have dealt with them. No pagan barbarian shall rule as a king in my Britannia.” Vortigern’s voice was confident, though it was clear he was also fatigued.

  "But now, Vortimer, I have a task for you, for I would again make use of our friend in the court of Caer Guricon. Uther has likely maintained his father's staff, so perhaps we can poison the son as we did the father. Indeed, I would have both Uther and Merlin dealt with by these means if it can be arranged."

  Vortimer looked surprised. "Huarwar will be too afraid, even if he is still the king's valet. And though he aided us against King Constantine, it was only because he had no choice. Likely he worships Uther as much as all they seem to now. He will refuse."

  "He will surely refuse.” Vortigern spoke darkly, his tone malevolent. "Unless we motivate him as we did before. Still we hold his daughter, do we not? And was this not the means of securing his aid against Constantine, whom he was also unwilling to betray at first?"

  "Yes, father, but we agreed to release her after he aided us, and we did not do so. He will not trust us again."

  "No, my son, we agreed to release her when House Pendragon had fallen and I ruled all of Britannia. That has not come to pass, because Uther has proven to be a worse threat than ever his father was. Now we will alter Huarwar's bargain, for our misfortune is his also. He must poison Uther and Merlin, though now we have no time for slow-acting potions. You will send him this," - he withdrew a small vial from the sleeve of his robe and handed it to Vortimer - "for it is deadly. Just a drop in each of their wine goblets and the deed shall be done."

  Vortimer took the flask and looked at it thoughtfully. "Do you believe he will do it?"

  "Indeed I do, my son. Because we will leave naught to chance. Last time we sent him his daughter's ring as proof we held her. Now, let us add to his fear and motivation. This time, along with this vial, shall you send the finger upon which the ring once rode."

  Vortimer smiled coldly, for he enjoyed cruel work. "I shall attend to it personally."

  "Huarwar's message is simple.” Vortigern looked at his son as he spoke. "If Uther and Merlin die, poisoned by his hand, he shall be rewarded with much gold, and his daughter will be released to him at once. If he should fail us, then his precious child shall die, and in such torment as he cannot imagine."

  "I will send the messenger at once, father. If all goes well, we shall be rid of Uther and Merlin within the fortnight."

  Vortigern rubbed his hands together. "And without them this alliance shall wither, and we shall defeat them with ease. All of Britannia shall fall under my high kingship, to which you will one day succeed. Go now, and see this task done that we might complete our victory."

  Vortimer bowed to Vortigern. "Fare thee well, father." He turned and followed a path heading north through the woods, and in a minute he was out of sight.

  Vortigern remained for a few moments, staring at the waterfall and the crystal clear stream, but seeing neither. Lost he was, in old thoughts and memories. Constantine, he thought, you have cost me a lifetime of delay, but now finally my victory is at hand. The last of your line shall I now extinguish, and for all time my house shall rule Britannia.

  Caer Guricon was an armed camp. As far as the eye could see from the battlements of the citadel, the hills and fields were covered with the tents of soldiers. They were arranged in rough clusters, with plain canvas shelters surrounding the colorful pavilions of the kings and barons. Uther looked out over this sea of armed might with grim satisfaction, for soon he would lead this great host east to destroy Vortigern and all who followed him.

  Four battles he had fought since he drove the Picts from Carlisle. All had been victories, but they had been fought against ancillary forces and not Vortigern's main strength. Nevertheless, Uther's legend grew with each triumph, and fear spread in the ranks of the enemy. For Uther Pendragon took no prisoners, and all those who fell into his hands were put to the sword. Traitors he branded all Britons who fought for Vortigern and, if captured, they could count themselves fortunate for a quick execution. Those with less luck were burned or buried alive. The Saxons and other invaders he treated as animals, and if captured they were butchered in whatever manner was most convenient.

  Uther was idolized by his soldiers, and they were fanatically devoted to him, though it was awe more than love he inspired. He was too cold, too grim, too unflinchingly merciless for most men to love. But he gave them victory, and he made them understand that they fought for their homes, their wives, their children. He gave them pride and forged a victorious army from factions that had long fought each other in pointless feuds and petty duels.

  The kings too were under his spell, for they knew well that without his leadership they would be deposed or become little more than Vortigern's slaves. They feared him also, for in the whole host there was not a man so courageous as to face Uther Pendragon's wrath. Such was the force that held this unlikely confederation together. All knew that there was little that would enrage Uther as much as petty arguments between his kings and allies, and none would risk his anger.

  The hero was an empty man though, and in his soul, beneath the iron will and the driving passion to win, was a deep apathy. Uther fought because the war must be won. He was high king because that was his right, and he would suffer no one to deny him, not because he craved power or prestige. The true source of his elemental strength was something few understood. All that mattered to him he had already sacrificed to forge this weapon, and he would not allow that loss to be in vain. Whatever further price he may pay, regardless of the cost to others, Uther Pendragon would achieve the victory his heart demanded.

  He heard the footsteps behind them, and he recognized the sound of that light, shuffling stride. "Hello Merlin.”

  Merlin was the one who came closest to truly understanding Uther Pendragon. Long had they been friends - for all of Uther's life, in fact. Merlin knew the price Uther had paid, and though he did not at first understand just how deeply wounded the king was by his loss, he had come to realize...and to regret his role in that tragedy. Sadness he felt for Igraine as well as Uther, for while the king could vent his pain into war and victories, for her there was nothing but the walls of Tintagel and a cruel husband she despised. You played a role in that Merlin, he thought. You sacrificed that beautiful young girl without hesitation.

  "What is this?"
Uther was surprised by his friend's dreamy silence. "Is it possible that Merlin has naught to say? Never did I think I would see the day."

  Uther's quip brought Merlin from his deep thoughts. "And is it possible that the dread High King Uther, destroyer of armies and merciless warlord, makes a jest? I thought never to see such again."

  Uther gave Merlin a rare smile. "Indeed my friend, I must. For everyone else is too afraid of you to dare a mock. I sometimes wonder who is it they fear more, you or me?" The two of them stood side by side looking out over the camps. "So what think you, Merlin, of this vast host we have assembled. Only once have I seen so many warriors gathered together, in Italia when Odoacer slew Orestes and took control of the Roman army. Now but a few years later I have such a force at my command. Fate is indeed mysterious, my friend, for who could have imagined this road?"

  "I tell you truly that I foresaw a great destiny for you, and thus I told your father.” Merlin looked at Uther and smiled. “Yet even my vision was not so strong as to see this sight. Well have you done, my friend. Your father would be proud of you." Uther's face turned sour at the mention of his father, and he looked away as if to end the discussion. But Merlin was undeterred. "I am and always have been your friend, Uther, and I shall speak truly to you whether it anger you or no. You must let go of this anger and bitterness to your father. Deeply hurt he was when you refused to see him before you departed for Carlisle. I know the pain you have suffered from losing Igraine, but Constantine did only what he felt he must do, as did I. Forgive."