Pendragon and the Sorcerer's Despair (Pendragon Legend Book 5)

by C J Brown

  As nightfall approached, the sky grew darker and the rains heavier. Even the fields turned a dull lead, and once the sun set, all the land was shrouded with darkness.

  There were no stars to light the way, and the nearest town was just a few hundred yards away, and their torches could not help.

  The rain had by now soaked Merlin to the bone and he could feel the cold beginning to weaken him.

  Miserable and grieving, the Megolins and their train traveled silently, enduring the drizzle and the cold and the darkness.

  “Light torches,” Megolin finally ordered after sunset.

  The page handed three to the other servants and lit his own with flint and steel as the others set their torches ablaze.

  Light radiated from the torches, but none of them could feel the fire. The air was too cold, and their spirits too dark.

  Two hours later, they spotted the Green Keep of the capital rising tall and proud from the heart of the city. Countless watchtowers with fires keeping the darkness at bay could be seen, and so could the torches of the town outside the city gates.

  The streets of the town that flanked the lordsroad was empty, they saw, as they went through. Lights could be seen through the shutters of the buildings and voices could be heard now and then, but the streets were empty where the rain had turned the roads to mud and the air frigid.

  Megolin reined up a few yards from the main gate of the city.

  “This is King Megolin, your liege!” the page yelled.

  They heard a shout and at once the great iron portcullis began to rise.

  Like Gilidor, the gate was flanked by the banners of Land’s End, but the city was not a star fortress.

  As Merlin and his family went through, Merlin noted the second gate and wall ten yards away.

  The distance between the first and second was occupied by a moat bristling with spikes, with drawbridges here and there that connected all the outer gates to the second set.

  As they approached the second gate, the first closed with an iron clang and Merlin looked up to see a hundred helms looking at them.

  A bolt of lightning struck just then, and Merlin saw their faces for a moment.

  Trevena’s yard was nothing like Gilidor’s. Rather than a mud field with barracks, the ground was cobblestone and there were stone structures with oaken shutters. A stone bridge marked the end of the yard and connected one of the watchtowers to another stone bridge that ran to the second wall.

  A few soldiers were huddled by fires with their spears beside them.

  They rose at once when they saw the Megolins.

  “Your Grace.” They bowed.

  At once, hooves clattered toward them, and Merlin looked to see a column of armed guards thundering towards them, the banner of Land’s End hovering above their helms.

  Cloth-of-gold cloaks trailed from their shoulders, and Merlin could see that the horses, too, wore polished armor that reflected the light of the torches.

  The one leading the party reined up before Megolin and swung down from his saddle.

  His men followed as he bowed.

  “Your Grace,” he said.

  “Commander,” Megolin answered.

  “We got the raven two days past. We are truly sorry.”

  “You are most kind,” Megolin said. “Is Lord De Grance awake?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. We will take you to him.”

  The commander and his guards saddled up and wheeled their horses around.

  They cantered back through the archway, and Megolin, Merlin, Igraine, and their train trotted after them.

  When they went through the arch, Merlin was able to see much more of the city.

  It was not as militarily significant as Gilidor, and rather more suited to civilian life.

  For as far as Merlin could see from his horse, there were nothing but slate and timber roofs housing the people of the capital. The streets were brightly lit with iron lanterns that hung from oaken posts, and even at night, the city was alive.

  The Street of Merchants, where traders from all the known world set up their shops to sell to the locals, and which was connected to the harbor, still sounded the din of business – buyers haggling with the sellers, sellers boasting of rich spice and godly jewels.

  Merlin felt a pang of sadness at hearing city life, for he knew that all this would end if the Huns prevailed, and they would prevail if Arthur did not return as the king the mages had prophesied he would be.

  Great fires were burning as chatter drifted through the air. Taverns catered to soldiers and the old, who smoked their pipes, talking of the war. Children fought with wooden swords while young men trained near the barracks. Horses snickered and trotted along. Travelers ate at shops throughout the city. More people were arriving every day from the province’s furthest cities. But where the enemy was attacking at their borders with the Narrow Sea, the people of Land’s End remained strong. Farms fed the defenders, and the farmers built defensive walls around their fields. Their spirit was strong. Nothing would break it.

  The hooves of their horses clattered off the cobblestone road as they ascended the hill, at the top of which was perched the Green Keep.

  From here, Merlin could already see it.

  A curtain wall bristling with merlons and scorpions, and guards hid the first levels. There seemed to be only one gate, and the portcullis, flanked by the banners of Land’s End, was shut.

  Torches burned everywhere, and there seemed to be no street that was left to the darkness.

  From that, Merlin drew relief. There was something about light that even helped one with the lowest feelings, whereas the dark was cold and turned even the good things sour.

  As the horses clattered on, Merlin kept looking at the Keep.

  Tall stone spires rose from the corners of the castle, and fires burned at the top. The Keep was dotted by postern gates and there was a network of baileys all manned by guards. There must have been at least two hundred men posted strategically as far as Merlin could see. He was sure that with the advantage they had, no Hun army could ever get through.

  Within a few minutes, the horses stopped before the great iron portcullis of the Green Keep.

  “Raise the gate for King Megolin!” The commander of the Lord’s Guard yelled.

  At once, they heard the clinking of chains and the creak of iron as the gate began to rise.

  Moments later, its spikes were rising up, and then hovered above the ground.

  The Lord’s Guard commander trotted forward, and Merlin and the rest of them followed.

  The castle yard was crowded with guards and soldiers. The training yard rang with the clash of steel, and the parapets with talk of the guards.

  But a hush fell when they saw the king.

  They bowed.

  “Return to your duties,” Megolin said.

  At once, the din of the yard resumed, and Megolin turned to the commander of the Lord’s Guard.

  “Forgive Lord De Grance,” the commander said, “but he is quite busy and regrets that he could not meet you himself.”

  “It’s good he didn’t,” Megolin said. “There are far more important things to tend to right now. We must meet, though.”

  The great oaken doors of the keep creaked just then, and a lad ran out, wearing a leather brigantine, a hooded cloak, and woolen breeches. “Your Grace.” He bowed, as the rain grew heavier.

  “All right, we stop now!” Merlin heard a voice shout and then the recruits were running from the yard.

  “Lord De Grance will meet you now,” the lad said. “He has called a meeting of the council so that you all may deliberate.”

  Megolin swung down from his saddle, signaling to Merlin, Igraine, and the rest of their train to do so as well.

  The commander of the Lord’s Guard signaled, and at once a group of lads ran over t
o walk their horses away.

  Merlin went to the carriage where Arthur was and told the guards to send him to a chamber.

  The commander of the Lord’s Guard looked at the Roman with surprise.

  But he knew better than to question the royal family of his people.

  Without a word, he and the Megolins stepped through the doors and out of the rain.

  The air here was fresh and toasty and cast drowsiness upon Merlin.

  He snapped himself out of it. This was no time for sleep.

  The commander of the Lord’s Guard saw them to the throne room.

  Servants and guards walked past as they ascended the steps, all bowing when they saw their king.

  They reached the fifth level by ascending stone steps, passing windows that looked out for miles beyond the city. Some allowed for a view of a the waves of the Great Ocean that crashed along the coast. A hundred ships, half merchant, berthed there.

  Two guards stood beside the doors to Lord De Grance’s court. “Your Grace,” they said, bowing.

  Megolin nodded as they opened the doors.

  The entire court had been called to meet. Lord De Grance, dressed in gold and blue livery, sat atop his throne of stone and wood. The banners of Demetia and Land’s End hung behind his seat as torches and fireplaces crackled, warming the cold stone.

  As Merlin walked in, the guards shut the doors, and the Megolin clan proceeded along the aisle.

  Walking past ministers, advisors, and guards, all bowing, they reached the dais where De Grance knelt, with the Lady Genie to his right, and the Lady Guinevere to hers. The latter stared at them with yellow eyes.

  “Your Grace,” De Grance said, “great sorrow is felt tonight for the misfortunes of our people. We regret that we could not help.”

  “Do not spend time regretting, Leo, for there is much to do.”

  Leo looked at Merlin. “The last time I saw you,” he said, you were a little lad still learning to speak. Now, you are one of the greatest warlocks the Isle has ever seen.”

  Merlin felt a pang of pain stab through him when he heard those words. Normally, he would have been happy, but the pain of his failures made those words hollow.

  But he couldn’t say that.

  “I thank you,” he muttered.

  Megolin turned and walked over to the empty seat beside Lord De Grance.

  Igraine went with him, and Merlin walked to the seat opposite from Megolin, also beside De Grance.

  When Megolin sat, the rest of the room sat as well.

  Merlin watched as Megolin eyed the council.

  “What were you just talking about?”

  “We were going over the recent events that have befallen the Isle.” De Grance waved at the map. Upon the location of Demetia had been placed a square timber block. All the cities that had fallen to the Huns were marked with the same tokens. “The only places not yet occupied by the enemy are Astavon, Rodwin, and all of Land’s End.”

  Megolin looked at the map. “How many soldiers does Land’s End have?”

  “Fifty thousand, but that won’t be enough, not if the news is true.”

  Megolin thought for a moment.

  “Can Gilidor hold the Huns back?”

  “It and its fortifications. But only for a time. Gilidor is at a strategic point and is itself a strategic castle. The one who holds it commands the battlefield. But the Huns are not like any enemy any Briton has ever fought. They will use their persons to burst through the gates if need be, and our men do not know how to fight such barbarity. If the enemy were to gain Gilidor, there is little chance they will know how to use the fortress, but attacking them there would still be difficult.”

  Megolin considered, and then he looked at the rest of the council.

  Then he rose.

  The council and the court rose as well.

  “There is something that I will tell you,” Megolin shouted, “but you must first swear that you will not tell a soul outside this room.”

  The people eyed each other.

  “Of course, Your Grace,” one of the councilors said.

  Megolin looked at him. “The prophecy is that the Isle would one day choose someone to unite Britannia once more and wield Excalibur. That someone has been chosen.”

  A wave of murmurs swept through the crowd.

  “Meerbark sent word of such a person that you spoke about,” De Grance said.

  Megolin nodded. “His name is Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon and Igraine Megolin, my nephew, and Prince Merlin’s cousin.”

  “The Pendragons were the emperors of Rome for decades, till Lucius the Usurper stole the throne,” Igraine said. “My husband was the rightful heir to the Empire, and rather than fight Lucius for his right, he chose to spare the provinces from civil war. Now, he is gone.”

  “But Arthur is not,” Merlin said. “He died at the Fall of Demetia, but I have anchored his spirit. He can return.”

  “Why hasn’t he?” De Grance asked.

  Merlin looked at him.

  “I am not powerful enough.”

  “How do you know he is the one?” De Grance asked Megolin. “Perhaps that’s why he cannot return. The Isle does not bring just anyone back from Starhearth.”

  “He is just and noble and kind,” Megolin said. “And most of all, he is not of the Rome that our generation knows. He is of a better time that has not yet happened. He is the one who tried to unite the tribes just a few days ago, before the Huns attacked Demetia with all their strength. He went to try and get the Highlander king to abandon the Huns and ally with his fellow Britons, despite the hurt he had suffered because of him. He has lost a great deal, and he has not failed the light.”

  The lord of Land’s End thought for a moment.

  “We will talk more of this later. For now, we must ready ourselves for war with the Huns until Arthur can return.”

  Megolin nodded.

  “We will send every soldier we have to Gilidor,” De Grance decided, and a few to the line of forts, but Gilidor cannot fall, or the rest of Land’s End will not be able to defend itself.”

  As her father spoke, Guinevere could tell from his demeanor that she was more able than Merlin. There was a good chance she was. Already, her spells were greater than those of many of the warlocks she learned about.

  But she wouldn’t say anything. She wasn’t about to be arrogant.

  “About seventy thousand Huns are attacking our cities and those of the other tribes,” King Megolin said. “Their numbers grow every day, for the people they defeat are enslaved and added to their ranks. King Fergus has aligned with them. It’s only a matter of hours before a hundred thousand Huns are at your border. There is no hope, not even with your armies. Arthur said that we should try to unite the isle. Lord Galahad is the only one who has heeded the call. Lord Lancelot marches for the trading port not far from here. Others have refused, and we haven’t been able to reach the rest.”

  De Grance considered what his king was saying.

  “Our armies number fifty thousand. There are still another fifty thousand recruitable men. Perhaps we can raise new armies and defend our borders.”

  “But that will take a long time, my lord,” Megolin said.

  De Grance considered this.

  “Then we’ll close off the ports and our borders. Only people of the isle will be allowed to enter. And we will send our forces to the borders. We will not let them through.”

  Megolin nodded.

  Within the hour, as a heavy rain lashed the streets of the capital, the order was given, and the captains of the ships already docked at the port of Trevena were grounded while a battalion of soldiers marched to guard the port. Armies streamed from the gates of the city, rain pinging off their armor as birds were sent to the cities of Land’s End.

  15

  Failed<
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  As the rains of the autumn storm poured outside, blurring the windows, Merlin stood by Arthur. Torches illuminated the room, but Merlin could not see the light, nor feel the fires. For Merlin, the world was still too dark.

  Yes, all of Land’s End’s armies were marching to war, and people’s spirits were strong, but none of this mattered if the one thing the mages of old had prophesied did not happen. Arthur needed to return. Arthur needed to be king, and the Isle needed to rally to him. Merlin was even sure that Fergus would end his treacherous alliance with the Huns once Arthur was alive again. But that all depended upon Merlin and Arthur’s will to return. Both were failing now.

  Merlin closed his eyes and returned to Starhearth.

  “Arthur!” he yelled.

  Arthur appeared before him, his look distant.

  “Arthur…did Fergus speak with you?”

  Arthur nodded.

  “He told me about some war three thousand years ago and how there was a king named Ergar who ruled the North.”

  “He told you what happened?”

  “Not everything.”

  “Has Mergus spoken to you?”

  “Yes. He said I’m a good soul.” Arthur chuckled.

  “Why is that funny?”

  “A good soul would not have failed his people,” Arthur said. “A good soul would not have suffered as much as I have.”

  Merlin thought for a moment. “Arthur, you did not fail your people. You fought for your people. You died for your people.”

  “And now they will die too,” Arthur said sharply. “There are thousands of people arriving here every day. They tell tales of the fall of cities and the enemy that darkens the world. I have spoken with many of these people, Merlin. What good was my fighting for them? What good was my death and all the pain I suffered for them?”