The Merlin Chronicles: Box Set (All Three Novels)

by Daniel Diehl

  Deep down, Mordred was terrified of Morgana but he was also enthralled by her and had long ago become accustomed to her irrational tirades. “Mother, it will take him weeks, possibly months, to decipher enough of your books to understand how the gate works. We have time.”

  When Morgana released her hand, five livid pink circles stood out on Mordred’s face. “There is never enough time, my son. But you are right about one thing; it will take that horrid old man months to figure out how the gate operates. But I’m not ready for the final push. Not quite yet. These things must be handled delicately. We have to get my scrolls back before he deciphers them, and I’ll have to move more quickly than I planned. Damn, I HATE being rushed.”

  “Tell me where he is and I’ll find him, take your scrolls back and kill him.” After a small pause during which a leering smile crept across his face, Mordred added a final promise. “And I’ll make sure he dies very slowly.”

  “I don’t know where he is. I’ve been scrying for hours and can’t find him anywhere.” Her pacing became quicker, more frustrated. “I don’t know how but he can make himself invisible to my scrying bowl.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Pointing a finger toward her son, she shouted. “Find Rhydderich Hael. Tell him to take his men and harry the countryside. Search every farm and village for the wizard. Kill everyone and everything in their path; don’t leave anywhere for Merlin to hide. But tell him not to go too deep into Arthur’s territory. I can’t afford to start a war before I’m ready.”

  “Yes, mother.” Mordred turned and began moving toward the door.

  “Wait. Tell Rhydderich I’ll call in a few of the dragons to help him.”

  “Yes Mother.”

  “But only two or three. I have plans to lay before I allow any more of them through. I can’t afford to let things get out of control now. Not when I’m this close.”

  “Will there be anything else, mother?”

  “Yes.” Pausing in her aimless pacing, Morgana whirled around to face Mordred across the length of the room. “After you’ve sent Rhydderich on his way, you and I are going to start gathering my army.”

  More than a hundred miles away Merlin waved his hand across the surface of the water, making the image waver, fade from view and disappear amid the tiny ripples. The silent images left little doubt as to the general topic of Morgana’s tirade, but he desperately wished he knew the specific details. What was she going to do next, how soon would she be able to do it and, most importantly, how could he best thwart her until Arthur’s army was ready to move? There was obviously a great deal of work to do; he just wished he had some way of knowing what it was. Nodding to himself, he reached for the small jar of anti-scrying ointment the Buddhist Llama had given him years before and placed an extra dab on his forehead.

  * * * *

  Off in the distance, just to the east of the ancient hill fort with its burgeoning new fortifications and buildings, hundreds of small encampments were scattered across the meadows and grasslands. Large gaudy tents; small, plain tents; hastily constructed lean-tos; thousands of temporary structures were situated individually and in clusters. Here and there the scene was punctuated by the glow and smoke of early morning fires as the encampment of Arthur’s allies stretched into the distance nearly as far as the eye could see.

  The first volunteers to arrive had been more than four-hundred-and-fifty Cornishmen who walked into Baenin only three days after Jason and Merlin robbed Morgana’s library and less than a week before word of the first attack by Morgana’s thugs reached the king. Two weeks later the first contingent of Bretons had ridden in behind their king, Hoel. The remainder of his army straggled in over several days as their ships landed on the southern coast and they made their way northward to Baenin. During this same period three more villages were sacked and more than two hundred additional Britons answered Arthur’s call for men, making their way in twos and threes and groups of a half dozen or more into the capital, often after abandoning the ruins of their shattered homes and farms. The last, grand entrance was the arrival of a vast array of Franks, who paraded into Baenin in a single body that stretched along the southern road for nearly a mile.

  Now, seven weeks after Easter, on the day before Whitsun, King Arthur, along with his closest advisors and nearly three dozen foreign dignitaries stood in the meadow between the sprawling military camp and the old Roman villa, watching in amazement as the king’s engineer displayed a startling array of military technology. They had already been escorted through the barns where they Oooed and Awwed over a battery of thirty nasty looking ballistae mounted on conveniently mobile, two wheeled carts, and watched in awe as Jason demonstrated the deadly power of one of the weapons while the young page, Cadwaladr, led the cart horse back and forth across the field.

  While the ballista was being trundled back into the barn, the assemblage of kings, noblemen and generals was given a chance to examine the stirrups, lances, heavy soled riding boots and iron plated shields that Jason had designed; and Jason fielded the flurry of questions they hurled at him.

  Later, fortified by a hearty lunch washed down with a strong new drink whose manufacture Merlin had wheedled out of Beverley - but which he steadfastly insisted was a magical formula far too complicated to explain - the dignitaries had reassembled in the meadow where they were treated to a stunning display of cavalry maneuvers put on by Llewellyn, Bedwyr and a half dozen of their best men. Back and forth they charged, turning their mounts in tight, complicated maneuvers and stopping and charging with more speed and accuracy than any of their audience had ever witnessed. With their long lances tucked under their right arm, they charged at jousting dummies, driving the points of their lances through the dummies chests and plucking circular brass rings from the tops of wooden posts with astounding skill.

  “Well, I never had much faith in the idea of putting perfectly good soldiers on the back of a horse, but as much as I hate to admit it that was about the most impressive display I’ve ever seen. Those equites of yours could do a lot of damage to an enemy line, Arthur.”

  The man who spoke had been introduced to Jason as Hoel, king of the Bretons. As first cousin to Ambrosius Aurelianus and Uther Pendragon, Hoel was Arthur’s second cousin and his kinship to Ambrosius was unmistakable both in the similarity of their physical appearance and their mannerisms. Well into his middle years, Hoel’s hands and arms were crisscrossed with deep scars earned in dozens of hard-fought battles. Two fingers were missing from his left hand and he wore a strip of elaborately embroidered cloth tied around one eye; or, at least around the empty socket where an eye had once been. The cape slung over his right shoulder had obviously been made from the skin of a male lion - the poor beast’s mane now provided a high, standing collar that encircled Hoel’s neck. Now, as he stared at Llewellyn’s men executing one complex maneuver after another, his good eye gleamed. Turning to Arthur, he said “I want to know more about those foot things your man showed us.”

  While Hoel spoke, Arthur motioned for Jason to give him one of the stirrups. “As Master Jason explained earlier, these stirrups allow my equites to maneuver easily and with tremendous accuracy. They also ensure that the men are not unhorsed when their lance impacts with an enemy soldier or horse.” Arthur watched in silence as the Breton king examined the simple metal object. “And I have more than enough of them to equip your equites as well as those of Duke Aegidius. How many horses did you bring?”

  Hoel passed the stirrup to a short, muscular young man standing next to him before answering. “I only brought twenty. Horses onboard ships are awkward, clumsy things and I’ve never had much faith in them. Of course, if I’d known about all this new equipment…”

  “That’s all right, cousin. We will make use of what we have to work with.” Turning to the young man who was now examining the stirrup with intense interest, Arthur continued. “Your Lordship seems particularly fascinated by our stirrup. Obviously I noticed that you came with an impressive number o
f mounted troops.”

  “Seventy-three.” The man raised the stirrup to eye level and turned to face Arthur. “This is astounding; so impossibly simple and yet such a wondrous innovation. Did you say the same man designed these as invented the ballistae? I want to meet this engineer of yours.”

  Arthur motioned Jason forward. “Your Lordship, this is my engineer and second best wizard, Master Jason, known as the carpenter. Jason, allow me to present you to Duke Aegidius, ruler of the Franks.”

  The duke offered his hand in the Roman fashion, clasping the forearm rather than the hand, and Jason was amazed at the power of his grip. As they greeted each other, Jason took a second to study the young man whose descendants would include the Emperor Charlemagne, and after whose people France would one day take its name. Short, black haired and intimidatingly muscular, but with a broad, easy smile, Aegidius could not have been more than twenty-three or twenty-four years old. He would have been remarkably handsome except for what Jason at first assumed to be a face deeply scarred and pockmarked from an advanced case of adolescent acne. But the second he noticed the same scarring on the man’s hands and arms he realized what he was seeing. Duke Aegidius had survived a bout with one of the most contagious and deadly diseases in human history; smallpox.

  “I assume you must be a student of Praefator Merlin. Am I correct?”

  Jason stammered for a second, returning his attention from his appraisal of the duke to the conversation at hand. “Um, yes. Of course. So you know Merlin, then?”

  The duke laughed and nodded. “Everyone in the civilized world has heard of the Praefator’s power, and if what I have seen today is any indication of your work, you will do credit to his name.”

  “Thank you.”

  The duke continued to hold Jason’s arm in his grip, but addressed himself to both Jason and Arthur. “Are there enough stirrups and lances to equip all seventy-three of my equites, as well as myself?”

  “More than enough.” Arthur nodded.

  “Good. Please have your saddler see to it as soon as possible. I want my men to start training with your equites immediately.” Releasing Jason’s arm, the young duke started to turn away but checked himself. Pointing a finger at Jason’s chest with one hand and holding up the stirrup in the other, he added “And by way of offering a small thank you for this wonderful technology, thirty of my men will volunteer to help you man your ballistae.”

  “They will?”

  Aegidius offered a lop-sided grin and a wink. “They will when I command them to.”

  With the demonstrations finished, Arthur suggested they all adjourn to his audiencing hall to discuss options and tactics, stressing the role Jason had played in his resounding victory over the Saxons three months earlier. As they walked back to the old villa, Merlin pulled Jason to the end of the line. When he spoke he had that riveting stare Jason had come to know far too well.

  “So, what do you think of the alliance Arthur has assembled?”

  Jason shrugged. “Honestly, I didn’t have any idea what to expect.”

  “But I know what you think.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “Of course I do. You think this is a sad, tiny army made up of untrained peasants and barbarians and that they wouldn’t stand a chance against any real army.”

  Jason shook his head. “I wouldn’t have said it, but you’re right.”

  “And so are you – or you would be if they were judged by the standards of old Rome or the military power of the twenty-first century. But this is the fifth century and by the standards of our time this is a very impressive army.”

  “Like I said, I didn’t know what to expect but I do know Dark Age battles were pretty small.”

  “I also know you don’t particularly like Ambrosius; you think he is a barbarian and you probably think Hoel is at least as bad as he is.”

  “I’m not the one who has to lead this army into battle – thank God – but those guys are pretty crude.”

  “If Ambrosius wasn’t good, Arthur wouldn’t have him at the head of his army, uncle or no uncle.”

  Jason nodded. “I understand that.”

  “Good. And as to Hoel, he is, without doubt, the hardest, most battle-tested soldier you will ever meet – in this or any other time. He has fought in literally hundreds of campaigns. He has fought the pagan tribes in what you think of as Germany; he has fought against the remaining legions of Rome and he even fought against Duke Aegidius’ father. He is a brilliant general and every one of his men would die for him; and that’s the kind of loyalty that wins battles. That man is a legend.”

  Jason nodded again. “I understand, and I promise I’ll work with him as much as he’ll allow me to.”

  “Good. But I don’t think you realize just how famous Hoel is. Despite how little your history may know about our time, his name has survived into your own century.”

  Jason scowled, ploughing through his memory for the name Hoel but coming up empty. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him.”

  “Of course you have. You just don’t know it. Aren’t you familiar with the children’s rhyme about Old King Cole?”

  “Sure. Everybody knows it. ‘Old King Cole was a merry old soul; and a merry old soul was he; he called for his pipe; and he called for his bowl; and he called for his fiddlers three’. So what’s that have to do with…wait”, Jason squinted his eyes and cocked his head. “You’re not seriously trying to tell me that Old King Cole is really King Hoel?” Merlin grinned, nodded and slapped Jason playfully on the back. “Oh, God. How do I get myself into these things?”

  In the center of Arthur’s assembly hall a long table had been set up with enough chairs around it to accommodate the twenty-two highest ranking noblemen and officers, plus Merlin and Jason. With all of the shuffling for position, and helping themselves to tankards of ale from a huge earthenware vat standing along one wall of the room, it took nearly a half hour just to get everyone seated. Taking his place next to Merlin – who was arranging sheets of parchment, an ink well and quill - Jason vainly tried not to imagine that this would all somehow be more authentic if the table had been round instead of rectangular. Shaking his head he forced the ridiculous thought from his mind before he inadvertently said something that would make him look stupid rather than like the military genius they all seemed to think he was.

  Once everyone had taken their place, Arthur declared the first order of business would be to make a final tally of troop strength: only when they knew how many men were at their disposal could they form a specific number of units, of sufficient strength, to fill whatever battle formation they decided upon. As the host, Arthur spoke first, stating that he had nine hundred and fifty foot soldiers, fifty equites and one hundred and twenty engineers including the thirty Aegidius had volunteered.

  The Cornish general spoke next, declaring that he had never taken an exact count but assumed that he commanded around four hundred and fifty men, all of whom were on foot.

  King Hoel offered his numbers as being seven hundred and thirty foot soldiers and twenty equites, still grumbling that if he had known about the stirrups he would have brought more horsemen.

  The last to speak was Duke Aegidius who proudly announced that he commanded slightly more than nine hundred foot soldiers and seventy three equites.

  When each of the commanders was finished, Arthur looked at Merlin and asked him to announce the final size of the combined armies.

  “My Lords,” Merlin cleared his throat, rose from his seat and read from the small sheet of parchment in his hand. “We now have slightly in excess of three thousand foot soldiers complimented by one hundred and forty three equites. There are thirty ballistae with one hundred twenty engineers to operate them. Considering each ballista requires a three man team for optimum efficiency we have thirty engineers in reserve, should we need them. Presumably the horses on the ballistae carts will be manned in battle by the baggage boys who are otherwise charged with caring for the animals. Our total number
of men, as nearly as I can figure without a precise count, and not including the baggage boys, stands at three thousand, five hundred men.”

  Although everyone expressed both delight and amazement at the size of the combined force, there were questions fielded as to the possibility of recruiting additional troops. The proposal of sending an emissary to Emperor Leo of the Eastern Roman Empire was immediately rejected as taking far too long. When Aegidius suggested asking for help from the Roman Emperor Lucerius Hiberus, or Pope Simplicius, virtually every head at the table shook from side to side, showing absolutely no faith in either the shattered remnants of the Roman Empire or the weak and vacillating pope.

  “NO.” General Ambrosius slammed his open palm on the table with a mighty crash, pushing himself to his feet. “We have assembled the greatest host the world has seen since the time when the Roman Empire was at its peak, and we need no outside help. We have sufficient foot soldiers to form thirty centuries, and that is greater than any single legion known to history. With the help of God, our good King Arthur, the Praefator and master engineer Jason, we are up to this task. And when we rid the world of the dragons we will be lauded and praised throughout all times and among all men and nations.”

  When the man Jason continued to think of as The Klingon finished, the entire company erupted in cheers, shouts and whistles, while Ambrosius himself hoisted his huge drinking horn into the air in a salute, placed it to his lips and emptied it in one long draught. Jason had to admit to himself that the whole thing was very impressive and very moving. Now the only thing that concerned him was convincing Morgana’s army and the dragons that Arthur’s army was as indomitable as its leaders seemed to think it was.

  In celebration of the religious holiday known as Whitsun – or White Sunday - Arthur declared the rest of the weekend a time for celebration, feasting and enjoyment. While the people of Baenin and the surrounding villages drank copious amounts of ale donated by their king, and amused themselves with a tug of war; a ball game that used an inflated pig’s bladder and apparently had no rules; and a greased pig chase, members of the court and visiting dignitaries prepared for a great feast that would also mark the formal launch of their war against the dragons.