The Merlin Chronicles: Box Set (All Three Novels)

by Daniel Diehl

  While the army marched, formed battle lines and drilled with spear, sword and shield, Llewellyn’s equites practiced their cavalry maneuvers on scruffy looking mounts not much larger than ponies. Jason stood dumbstruck as the squat horses trotted back and forth, their rider’s feet dangling no more than ten or twelve inches off the ground. Most amazing of all was the fact that while the saddles looked much like modern English saddles, they had no stirrups, making it almost impossible to direct the horse in any tightly controlled maneuver. Of the fifty or so equites who made their way to Baenin the most impressive in the saddle was a man named Bedwyr, a tiny, compact man with flowing blond hair and eyes as cold and gray as a winter sky. While Jason stood watching him demonstrate a complicated left-right-left evasive tactic for the rest of the equites, Merlin leaned close and whispered into his ear.

  “Bedwyr is one of Arthur’s men whose name survived in the legends.”

  Jason reared his head back and stared at Merlin. “Bedwyr?” Never heard of him.”

  “That’s not surprising. You probably only know him by the French version of his name.”

  “Which is?”

  “Bedivere.”

  “You’re kidding. You mean there really was a Sir Bedivere?”

  “Not was, is. You’re looking at him. He cuts a fine figure on a horse, doesn’t he?”

  Staring at the tiny, shaggy horse as it bounced back and forth, jostling the man on its back, Jason found himself unable to give an honest answer that wouldn’t sound insulting.

  Later on, during that first afternoon of cavalry practice, Jason wandered toward the small blacksmith shop, shaking his head. He knew what he was about to do was wrong and he had sworn time and again he would not let it happen, but in quiet conversation with the smith he sketched a simple shape in the dusty ground. It looked like an upside-down letter U with a bar across the open end. It was a simple enough thing and after explaining the urgency of the matter Jason asked the heavily muscled smith how long it would take him to make fifty of the objects.

  An hour later, with the first two stirrups still warm in his hand, Jason drew Merlin, Llewellyn and Bedwyr aside and explained how the use of stirrups would give them far more control over their horse’s movements.

  Llewellyn shook his head and rubbed a hand across his chiseled features. “I don’t see how these things hanging from the sides of my saddle will improve the control the bridle already gives me.”

  Bedwyr didn’t say a word but the scowl on his face spoke volumes.

  “Look. All I ask is that you give them a try. If you don’t like them, don’t use them. But I’m so sure you’ll be impressed with how much extra control they give you that I asked the smith to make twenty-five pairs. That’s enough for about half of your men. They’ll be ready in the morning. So what do you say? Will you at least try them?”

  The only answer was Llewellyn and Bedwyr staring at each other for a moment before shrugging, taking the stirrups from Jason’s hand and walking away.

  “Gee. They didn’t have to be quite so enthusiastic about it.”

  Merlin laid a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Don’t take it personally. You’re a stranger here and the equites are a very closed, very elite society.” After a long pause he leaned close to Jason adding “And thank you for that. I know you had no intention of introducing advanced technology.”

  Jason threw his hands in the air, shrugging. “Well, I couldn’t just stand around and risk Llewellyn getting his pretty face all messed up when he fell off that stupid little horse in the middle of a battle, could I?”

  * * * *

  The furious activity continued without pause until late in the afternoon of the second day when a heavy set man, well into his middle years, rode into Baenin preceded by two trumpeters and followed by a small column of men on horseback and at least three hundred marching soldiers dressed in crude leather armor. After greeting King Arthur with a massive bear hug and directing his men to set up camp, he called the officers of both the foot soldiers and equites to a meeting in Arthur’s audiencing hall.

  Well into the second hour of the meeting the gnarled old bear of a man was still pacing back and forth, demanding to be given every scrap of available information on the Saxons’ whereabouts and movements, drinking heavily and swearing a blue streak. This, Merlin explained, was Ambrosius Aurlianus, Arthur’s uncle, commander of his armies and younger brother of the late king, Uther Pendragon.

  When the battle-scarred old man had first started storming around the room in his knee-length leather armor covered with iron rings and elbow-length bronze gauntlets, his unkempt hair and beard flying wildly around him, Jason thought he looked like a berserk Viking. But after the first twenty minutes of his foot-stomping tirade, Jason changed his mind – the man was not a Viking, he was an ageing Klingon warrior and any second now he was going to scream “Qapla” and demand a flagon of blood wine. In either case he was certainly one of the most imposing, intimidating human beings Jason had ever seen and he was obviously not a man to be trifled with.

  The chain of events, as it was relayed for the dozenth time by the man who had plummeted into Baenin two evenings earlier, was this: a large Saxon war party had sailed up the Severn River on the western edge of Britain, landed more than two dozen ships, plundered and burned several small farms and begun marching east toward the town of Vaddon. How far they may have advanced, how much – if any - local resistance they met along the way, and what their ultimate goal might be remained unknown. Standing in one corner of the room, discretely positioned behind a seated gathering of nearly twenty heavily armed officers, Jason and Merlin had been observing the proceedings in watchful silence.

  Leaning so close that his cheek rested on Merlin’s shoulder, Jason whispered “So, surely this can’t be the same attack on Vaddon that you told Beverley and I resulted in Arthur getting his ass whooped, can it?”

  “I’m afraid it is.”

  Directing a scowl toward the wizard, Jason’s voice descended to the level of a low hiss. “Damn it, Merlin, you said we’d have at least a year to get the army teched up before that happened. What am I supposed to do now?”

  “My apologies. Evidently I miscalculated a bit.”

  “A bit. Damn it, I’ve only been here four days.”

  “I did tell you I wasn’t very good at manipulating the time gates.”

  As Jason started to answer, Merlin flicked a finger toward the pacing, shouting figure in the center of the floor, indicating that Jason should pay attention. With an angry sigh Jason crossed his arms, leaned back against the wall and directed his eyes toward Ambrosius who was cross examining the terrified messenger as though he, personally, was responsible for the Saxon invasion.

  “I need to know who was leading them. Who was giving the orders?”

  Shrugging and holding up his hands in a sign of complete ignorance, the man stammered “my Lord, I don’t…”

  “Don’t whimper like a whipped pup, boy. Talk to me. Was there a tall man with a long blond beard plaited into braids and a braid down each side of his head?”

  “YES.” Delighted that he could confirm some definite detail, the man shouted out his answer. “A woman who escaped from one of the farms said a man with braids like you describe was at the head of the war band.”

  Ambrosius shot a burning glance at his nephew. “I knew it. It’s that pig Colgrim. He’s Hengist’s newest war chief and he’s a bloodthirsty Godless bastard if ever there was one. Hengist already has the entire eastern half of the island under his control but you know as well as I do that he wants it all. Mark my words, nephew, this man is headed straight to Vaddon and he means to cause us serious trouble. If we don’t stop him now, there may be no stopping him later. Just look at what those bloodthirsty Saxons and their barbarian Goth allies did when they marched into Rome sixty years ago; poof, no more Rome, no more empire. The only thing we have going for us is that the Saxons are a degenerate, violent lot and they can’t keep their army organized to save thei
r asses. They depend completely on numerical superiority to win every battle. If we can keep our men in formation, use the best Roman tactics and out maneuver them, we can beat those pagan swine. I’ll swear to it.”

  When he finished his speech, Ambrosius let out a huge belch, stormed across the room, dropped his two hundred pound bulk into a seat next to his nephew and tossed his drinking horn to a nearby page, indicating that he needed a refill.

  Having listened silently to Ambrosius’ bombastic assessment of the situation, Arthur nodded sagely to his uncle and raised his head toward the back of the room.

  “Praefator, do you have any insights that might work to our advantage in the coming battle?”

  “My Lord, I have been following the Saxon’s movement in my scrying bowl and can only tell you that since I have seen the morning sun striking them directly in the face for two successive days, so it would appear that they are, indeed, heading eastward, toward Vaddon.”

  Ambrosius slammed his fist on the arm of the chair, shouting “I KNEW IT.”

  Acknowledging his uncle’s comment with a nod, Arthur continued to address Merlin. “And what suggestions do you have on how best to maximize our chances of defeating the Saxons when we confront them?”

  “I will, of course, accompany yourself, my Lord Aurelianus, and our men, to the field of battle and offer whatever small advice and assistance I can, but at the moment my best suggestion is that you allow Master Jason to accompany us and heed his advice as you would my own. Jason has already offered a number of innovations to the equites, and unless I am much mistaken, they are finding them most effective.”

  So nearly simultaneous that they almost spoke in unison, Ambrosius Aurelianus shouted “Who?”, Jason blurted out “WHAT? ME?” and half a dozen cavalrymen whistled and shouted their assent.

  Never missing a beat, Merlin continued as smoothly as though both the old general and Jason had both shouted “What a great idea”. “General Aurelianus may have heard from the King that I brought a young wizard here to aid the Britons in their struggle against the dragons. It is my belief that he – that is Master Jason – should accompany the armies of Briton into the field to better understand how we array ourselves for battle, and thus devise the best plans for integrating his engines of war among the troops. I also have reason to believe that he may have knowledge of battle tactics far superior to our own and that we should pay close and serious heed to any deployment suggestions he may offer. If you doubt my words I suggest you speak with Llewellyn and Bedwyr of the equites.”

  When nearly all of the heads in the room turned to stare at Jason, he tried valiantly to employ what little magical powers he possessed to make himself invisible. It was absolutely no use, and the only thing he managed to do was grin and wait for Merlin to rescue him. The first person to break the awkward silence, however, was not the wizard but Ambrosius Aurelianus.

  “Is this man both a warrior and an engineer as well as a wizard?”

  This time Merlin came to Jason’s rescue. “No, my Lord, he is not a warrior. But just as a man does not have to be a priest to study scripture, nor does a woman need to be a healer to grow herbs, Jason has undertaken many years of study which, I assure you, includes the history of many great battles and how each of them was won and lost and he has an intimate understanding of the know-how necessary to turn the tide of battle.”

  The old man rose from his chair and stared across the room, skewering Jason with a hard glare. “Awfully young to be a wizard.”

  Finally rising to his own defense, Jason silently extended one hand, as a goblet of wine began to lift itself off of a table and float gently to a position directly in front of the old general’s face. While snickers and murmurs rumbled around the room, Ambrosius snatched the cup out of the air and drained its contents. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he looked back toward Jason.

  “I once knew an old witch in Gothland who could make fish appear out of thin air. Can you do that?”

  Jason creased his brow, shook his head and answered. “No, general, I don’t think I can make fish magically appear from nowhere.”

  As he dropped heavily back into his seat Ambrosius shot a bitter glance at his nephew. “I hope your new friend is a better engineer than he is a wizard.”

  While his uncle shifted heavily in his seat King Arthur nodded toward Merlin, offered a fleeting smile, and spoke. “I completely concur with the praefator that it would be wise for Master Jason to accompany us to battle so he can better understand how our armies function and thereby decide how best to integrate his new war engine into our ranks when the time comes to fight the beasts.” Looking at his uncle before he continued, and only receiving a small shrug and a noncommittal nod in response, Arthur continued. “And should he have any suggestions as to inventive tactics, I, for one, am always willing to listen and take new ideas under consideration. Now, if there is nothing else to discuss, I suggest you all go about your business without delay. We march for Vaddon at first light.”

  * * * *

  No, no, NO. Absolutely not. Have you both completely lost your tiny, tiny little minds?” Beverley was pacing back and forth in exactly the same manner Ambrosius had been doing not more than twenty minutes earlier, her fury barely contained and her face as red as a cherry.

  “But, Babe, we came here to help these people. That’s why…”

  “Yes, we came to help them, not to enlist in their army and get chopped to pieces by some bloody Saxon war axe. Do you have the vaguest idea what one of those things can do to a man? One good chop could split you open from collarbone to pelvis and gut you like a hog, and I have no intention of letting you die in some stinking fifth century battle by getting yourself hacked to pieces.”

  “Babe, I need to do this. I studied a lot of military history so maybe I can suggest some kind of new tactic that will give them an edge, but to do that I have to see how they fight.”

  “No, you don’t. You can discuss it here. You don’t have to risk your life and get covered with blood to understand how these people fight.”

  Merlin had been standing out of Beverley’s direct line of fire, but seeing that Jason was losing the struggle he held up a placating hand and spoke in a calm, level voice. “My dear, I’m afraid I have to take some of the blame for this confusion. You see…”

  Whirling around, Beverley nearly bit his head off. “You’re bloody well right you do. How dare you volunteer my husband to go off to God knows where to play World of Warcraft with King Arthur and his bloody knights without even asking his permission first? Or mine?”

  “Please, Beverley.” Merlin stepped forward, looking properly contrite but determined to press his case, convinced that Jason’s presence at Vaddon was absolutely necessary. “If Arthur and Ambrosius don’t come up with some new way to fight Colgrim’s army they’re going to lose. You saw the result of this same battle the last time it took place; I showed it to you on our way here.”

  “Merlin, I understand…”

  “Please, Beverley, let me finish.” Beverley backed off and held her tongue, but Jason could see the tight muscle twitching in her jaw. “Thank you, my dear. The Britons have been losing ground to the Saxons for decades and no one knows as much about their struggle as I do. It was the usurper Vortigern who brought the first Saxon mercenaries to our island six and a half decades ago.”

  “This is the same Vortigern who had you killed when you were a boy?”

  “Yes. The same man. If Vivian hadn’t brought me back to life I would have been dead at nine years of age. So, you see, I do know more about the course of the Briton’s decline at the hands of the Saxons than any other living person. Vortigern brought the Saxons here to fight for him, but inevitably they turned on him, killed him and seized his territory and they have been pouring into Britain, overrunning more land year after year, ever since.” Waving a hand toward a cluster of chairs, Merlin convinced Beverley to sit down, hoping that if her body relaxed so would her temper. “This is more than a territorial war
; it’s a war between cultures. The Saxons are still pagan and they practice human sacrifice. They believe that the more people they kill, particularly Christians, the more pleased their gods will be. Unless Jason can help me devise some new battle tactic, three days from now fully one third of Arthur’s men will be sacrificed to their pagan gods in a disastrous battle. With our numbers reduced to that extent there will be no hope of combatting either the next Saxon raid or mounting a credible offense against the dragons.”

  Merlin’s well-presented rhetoric and calming tone of voice had taken the edge off of Beverley’s anger. Exhausted, she was rubbing her forehead, shaking her head back and forth.

  “Damn you, Merlin, if you let anything happen to him I swear I’ll kill you myself.” After a long pause, she added “And I won’t bollocks it up like Morgana le Fay did.”

  “My dear, I conjured a shield spell strong enough to protect our boy from a dragon, I think I can protect him from the Saxons. Besides, I have no intention of allowing him anywhere near the battlefield. Fighting is a job for professionals and neither your husband or I are soldiers.”

  Pushing herself out of her chair, still shaking her head, Beverley held up her hand to indicate that the discussion was over. Pointedly avoiding looking at Merlin, she walked toward the door. As she passed Jason she leaned close, whispering “If you get yourself killed out there, Jason Carpenter, I will absolutely never speak to you again.” Seconds later she was gone, leaving the two men alone in the silence.

  Jason flopped his long frame into a chair, letting the tension drain out of him. “Well” he sighed, “I think that went about as well as could be expected.”

  “You really can’t blame her, Jason. She loves you and she’s worried about you. I’m sure all women feel similar anger when their men go off to war.” Scooting his chair nearer Jason’s, the sorcerer placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “And when we get back…”