Stone Lord: The Legend of King Arthur (The Era Of Stonehenge)

by J. P. Reedman

  And spoiling Ardhu’s view of this earthly paradise was a stranger.

  Ardhu felt a fearful knot arise in his belly as he stared at the unwelcome one. Was this truly a mortal before him…or was it one of the Everliving Ones, the spirits who lived in the hills, the stones, and the wild places of earth? For surely no human could have the face and form of the man who stood before him, balanced high above the falls on the jut of stone where the waters began their rapid descent, practising warrior’s-arts with a long and deadly spear that he thrust towards the belly of the sky.

  He was a Man of Bronze.

  Red bronze was the head of his spear, and pale bronze the skin on his bare shoulders and lean, tightly muscled torso. His hair, a rippling mane of waves that hung down his back, was also golden-bronze, and there were rings of copper threaded through its length. The planes of his face were high and fair, without flaw or defect: the nose sculpted, the jaw—which he wore clean-shaven—firm without viciousness, the lips curved but not womanish. Under a noble brow, his eyes gleamed rich, tawny amber. It was as if the Sun himself had stepped down onto that high perch and taken on the semblance of a human being in order to enjoin with human affairs.

  But then the perfect stranger stumbled, his foot slipping on sodden water weeds and nearly spilling him into the flume, and his perfect mouth loosed a florid and very human oath, and Art, watching from below, knew at once it was no god preening and parading on that lofty perch. Just a man. A man who had the temerity to look like a god to Ardhu’s eyes.

  Fear and awe changed abruptly to annoyance… an embarrassing stab of jealousy. He was King of Prydn, who, at fifteen summers had won three battles in as many days—how dare this man wander around as if he owned this wood and water!

  Harsh words burst out almost as if from a stranger’s mouth: “You! Over there! I wish to use this place. Finish your practice and be on your way!”

  The Man of Bronze halted and swung round to peer over the edge of the waterfall, his sun-bright face calm but mildly curious. He caught sight of Ardhu and his tawny eyes narrowed, although his lips rose in a mocking smile. “Who is this boy who speaks to me in such a haughty manner?” he asked in Ardhu’s own tongue, though he spoke with a strange, outlandish accent. “I thought by the tone that surely it must be some great warrior, some mighty chief. Instead I see a child in a silly robe that he must have stolen from his sisters!”

  “How dare you!” spat Ardhu, face reddening with rage. “You know not know who I am?”

  “No, I don’t…and you certainly do not know who I am!” retorted the shining stranger, leaping down the stony outcrops of the side of the falls with the fluidity of a sure-footed wildcat. “I am An’kelet, He-of-the-Striking-Spear, Prince of Ar-morah, son of the high priestess Ailin of the Lake of Maidens and King Bhan. And I may well be the greatest warrior in the West of the world.”

  “The greatest braggart, more like!” shouted Ardhu, and in a sudden frenzy born of exhaustion and frustration, he hurled himself at the taller man.

  The bronze stranger seemed unconcerned and even slightly amused. “You want to fight …so be it, young fool. I will douse your hotness in the waters of the falls by the end of the day!” With a deft movement he cast his great spear into a nearby tree where it stuck, quivering, its embedded point releasing a stream of sap as red as blood. “Let it be hands on then, no weapons. I would not raise a weapon against a child; it would bring no honour.”

  His words, as intended, inflamed Ardhu even more. The young chief rushed at An’kelet and tried to seize him, to topple him over into the pool and stop his prideful boasts. He was no great wrestler, but he had competed in fun round the fires with his fellows, and what he lacked in bulk, he made up for in swiftness of movement and wiry strength in his bow-hardened upper arms. Surely, one good headlong rush and he could wipe the mocking smile off that too-handsome visage…

  A moment later Art was on his arse on the hard rock, gasping. He stared up, unbelieving and bewildered, at the tall fair man looming above him, who had shot round him with lightning speed and tripped him up, kicking his legs out from under him with a swift blow from a lean, hard foot.

  “What evil magic is this…?” he mumbled, wishing he had his own magic-man, the Merlin, with him to do battle against this unnatural warrior from Ar-morah. “Fight me properly…you…you water-creature!”

  An’kelet sighed. “What more do you ask from me? I have already laid down my spear! Would you have me tie my hand behind my back too? I told you, boy—I am the best warrior in the Western world. Be it with weapons or hands, I will win!”

  Ardhu’s eyes blackened; burgeoning jealousy and self-doubt grew large in him again. Surely the gods loved him; they had given him the sword from beneath the stone…not this foreign stranger with his lazy smile and conceited boasts. Uttering an enraged cry, he struggled up into a half-crouch and slammed his head into his opponent’s stomach.

  The blow hit home…but did not have the effect Art desired. The bronze man staggered back for a brief second, but was immediately on him again, pinioning his arms behind his back. “A nasty, angry little boy, aren’t you?” he mocked. “I told you, you need to cool off by having a ducking!” And without further ado, he hurled Ardhu into the emerald pool.

  Art sank into the green depths, the water churning like a primordial cauldron around him. Immediately he kicked out and began to swim, striking out for the foam-laden surface. He burst through the spume and bubbles to see his adversary hunkered down on the bank, grinning and laughing.

  Laughing at him! At Ardhu, king of Prydn!

  A cloud of rage descended on the young warlord. Irrational thoughts of revenge filled his head. Although he vaguely knew it was ignoble in a fight where weapons had been downed, he reached under the water and drew Carnwennan from its hidden place in the band of his leggings.

  “You will laugh at me no more!” he shouted and he sprang from the pool and slashed wildly at his opponent’s startled, perfect face.

  The next moment he was on his knees, gasping for breath. An’kelet’s hands were around his throat, fingers pressing hard on his windpipe. No longer was the bronze man playing, teasing —now he was full of deadly intent. His eyes were narrowed, his face serious and deadly.

  “Who are you? Who sent you, assassin? Was it Loth of Ynys Yrch? You are not just some local peasant lad, are you? Not with that fine dagger! Speak now, or you will never speak again!”

  Ardhu struggled to answer; black spots streamed across his vision. “I…if Loth and Urienz are your enemies, then in truth you must be a friend of mine, for they are my enemies also.”

  An’kelet did not release his grip; he dragged Ardhu up, his eyes boring into the younger man’s. “Is that so? Who are you, if that is true? And how did you come by that noble dagger… How could it be yours, unless you are a man of worth… or a cutpurse and thief, a looter of barrows!”

  “I am Ardhu…” Art croaked. His head felt fuzzy, the world was spinning. He had never felt the Otherworld so near. "Pendraec. The Terrible head. The blade is mine by right. It was won from its barrow-guardian by moving the great stone. I am the King of the West!”

  Through dimming vision he saw An’kelet suddenly blanche. “My lord, forgive me, I could not know!” he cried, and at once he released Ardhu’s throat from his death-grip.

  Ardhu sank to the ground, eyes streaming and puke dripping from his chin, as, before him, the mighty Man of Bronze went down on one knee and bowed his head to him.

  *****

  Ardhu and An’kelet walked across the field toward Art’s war-camp. The tall foreigner had donned tunic and cloak, and although he looked less godly in his woven garb, that he was nobility was obvious by both his mien and his possessions. A fillet of thin gold held back his hair, and a small, ancestral axe-talisman fashioned from polished jadeite hung round his neck. His felt boots were of many colours, his belt-ring of shale, and at his belt hung two great, long Ar-moran daggers with golden pontille hilts—Arondyt and Fragar
ak the Answerer. On his shoulder rested the great barbed spear Balugaisa, which, he told Ardhu, was wrought from the spiky hide of the sea-monster Kon-khenn.

  “Here…” he was rummaging through a fox-skin bag. “I have mosses that will heal your throat…where my fingers bit into you. It will aid the bruising.”

  Art smiled wryly. “You heal too? Are you the world’s best healer just as you are the world’s best warrior?”

  An’kelet grinned. “My mother, the high priestess Ailin, said the ability to heal is one of the greatest of all arts. She showed me much healer’s magic, once even cutting a roundel from a man’s skull so that evil spirits can fly from his mind!” He pulled a tuft of moss from the bag and handed it to Ardhu. “Here. Try it.”

  Ardhu did as An’kelet told him, still wondering at this odd shining man from over the sea, who was unlike anyone he’d ever met before. Despite the hostility of their initial encounter, he found himself beginning to warm to the stranger. Although An’kelet brimmed with confidence, and was better to look at than a human man had a right to be, there was something appealing about his open manner, and his eyes, when not burning with the light of battle, were kind.

  “So, Prince An’kelet, what brought you to Albu from our cousin-land of Ar-morah?”

  An’kelet gave him a sideways look. “My father Bhan died before my birth, hence none of his lands became mine. My mother, as I told you, is a priestess; she lives with twelve maidens on an isle in the heart of a silver lake, in the middle of the mighty forest of Bro-khelian. These women were rumoured to be the most beautiful on earth; they tended a holy cairn surrounded by eighteen cupmarked stones that represented the Moon’s Great Year. When the time arrived that the Moon came down from the sky to dance over the temple, the priestesses would seek lovers from amongst human men, for that one night only. My father came to the isle, drawn by the rumoured beauty of the women—and by his own lusts! He coupled with my mother on the lakeshore and sought to carry her off to be his wife…but he did not know all of what took place upon that island. The Maidens of the Moon, driven into frenzy by their dance, tore him apart with their bare hands and scattered his bones into the lake. Nine Moons later I was born on the same silvered shore where I was conceived, and from it took one of my many names An’kelet-of-the-Lake. I was happy there for many years, but when my manhood rites were completed I was forced to leave, for it is forbidden for a grown male to dwell on that isle, and so I went to stay with my mother's kinsman, King Ho-helix grew restive there too, though, as a landless man…and decided to seek my fortune in Albu. We in Ar-morah had heard rumours of a mighty young warlord and I was curious to see for myself if he was worthy of the strength of my arm.”

  Ardhu grimaced. “And there I was acting the fool…”

  “It is forgotten, lord,” said An’kelet, wide-eyed. “There is no shame in it. My presence merely startled you when you were weary and sore-hearted, and you were not yourself. I am to blame.”

  Ardhu waved his hand, urging him to continue. “So, you had heard of me over the Sundering Seas. But here you are, far in the mountains of the West, near Sylur lands. And you speak of my enemies, Loth and Urienz, as your enemies too. How has this come about?”

  “I set sail in the winter when the waves were high; I am no sailor and forgot how the winds of Prydn are fierce and its weather-spirits capricious! No wonder the men of the East call your people ‘Dwellers Beyond the North Wind’! My ship was blown beyond its desired port in Belerion, and was beached on the coast near Mhon. I went ashore and continued my travels on foot, and came at the Feast of Lambing to the village of a chief called Ludegran. He was well glad to see me, for he had been plagued by evil neighbours, and looked to the sharpness of my spear, Balugaisa, Spear-of-Mortal-Pain. He is old but kindly, and I pitied him; his only son is dead, and his men, like himself, grow old; many of the tribe’s youths have perished in raids from the sea. He spoke of you with great hope, lord, and said he had seen you lift the great capstone to reveal the magic blade.”

  Ardhu nodded. “Yes, I recall Ludegran from the gathering at Marthodunu. Old but keen-eyed and quick of wit. He never spoke against me, as some of the others did.”

  “I was just about ready to leave Ludegran and search for you,” continued An’kelet, "but then further evil befell. A messenger came from the North—from the chiefs Loth and Urienz. Ludegran was asked to join them in rebellion against you, and to support Loth in a bid for High Kingship of all Prydn. He refused, and Loth threatened dire revenge, and now scouts have brought word that fighting men are issuing from the North, by sea and by land, to burn the villages of those who refuse to support them, and join forces with those miscreants who do. And when their numbers are swelled, they will march to the Great Stone temple of great fame, and cast you down.”

  “So, they are well on their way,” said Ardhu bitterly. “I had word of their treachery, and it is because of their threats that I have brought my warband to this place. However, it is evil news that they are so near at hand, for my men are weary…having three times fought the Sea-Pirates and won.”

  An’kelet clapped a firm hand on Art’s shoulder. “Well, you need not fear so much now, lord. I am here, the master of the shining spear. Together, all the evils of the world will fall before us!”

  *****

  When Ardhu and the Ar-moran noble arrived at the camp, Ardhu’s warband were just as intrigued by the newcomer as Art had been. They gathered close, curious, eyeing his weapons, especially the great, pronged spear, which was not a weapon used much by the men of Prydn, who preferred bows, daggers, and axes of stone and bronze.

  Ka’hai looked a bit wary, however, and rubbed his big, broad chin with a grubby fist. “I don’t know, Art,” he murmured to his foster-brother. “I wish Merlin were here. Oh yes, he’s likeable…amazing, even, but what if the men take to him and desert you? Do not be offended! But men are fickle and he is like a light to which lesser moths will cluster.”

  “Yes, I know the foreign prince is a special one,” said Ardhu heavily. “Knew it so much that I acted in a shameful manner when first I met him. Look…” He pointed to the finger marks on his neck. “He put these on me and brought me back to my senses. He has marked me now and humbled me; no matter if the men are loyal or not, I will know in my heart he is the better warrior and more worthy.”

  “Then why did you bring him here?” snapped Ka’hai, brow furrowed with anxiety. “Surely that is madness!”

  “Because it was his aim to join our cause…and because we need men like him, men beyond compare. Men who will inspire. We need him on our side, gathering warriors to us, to our cause, rather than drawing them to whatever quest is dear to him. Do you understand?”

  “I… I think so… I pray you’re right, brother.” Ka’hai chewed his lip.

  At that moment An’kelet cast his spear in a demonstration of its power, and the warband cheered as it split a rotted tree stump nigh in two. “A fine cast!” yelled Bohrs. “Ardhu, is this one to join us this day? We could use a long throw like that, to split a few raiders’ black hearts!”

  Ardhu inclined his head gravely and approached An’kelet, hands out. His voice was steady. “That is solely up to prince An’kelet…let the decision be his.”

  An’kelet drew himself up to his full height and smiled. He then drew his long dagger Arondyt with its gold-pinned pommel and presented it hilt-first to Ardhu. “I will fight with you, against the enemies of Prydn that are also enemies of Ar-morah. And please, do not call me ‘prince.’ There is only one lord-chief here and can ever be…Ardhu Pendraec, King of the West.”

  He sank to one knee, still holding up his dagger. Ardhu took it and touched it to An’kelet’s brow and to his shoulder as a token that he accepted this bronze stranger as one of his own men, and then he gave the blade back to its owner, who rose with a smile that blazed like the Sun at Midsummer.

  “My lord,” An’kelet said. “Now that I am your sworn man, can we set off to halt these bastards, Loth and Urienz?
My spear is thirsty and my spirit crying for battle!”

  “I’m just thirsty!” grunted Bohrs. “Ach, man, we’ve been battling for days!”

  “There will be respite, before the big battle,” said An’kelet. "Come, I will show you the way to the dun of chief Ludegran, where you will receive meat and drink to cheer you.”

  *****

  They upped camp before the Sun had reached the noon position, mounting their weary steeds and heading northwards, while around them the countryside grew more rugged, the mountains taller and the air more clear. Above their heads, the sky was alive with wheeling seabirds, sunlight flashing off their outstretched wings, their cries shrill and lonely like the calling of lost spirits. “I can smell salt in the air,” said Ardhu, lifting his head and scenting the wind like an animal, in a way Merlin had taught him.

  Riding alongside him on a pony that had belonged to one of the warriors who fell on the seastrand, An’kelet nodded. “Yes, we are not far from the sea—the sea that divides Albu from its sister isle Ibherna. The sea that brought men to Prydn years ago, and still does, but now they are men filled with plans of hate and conquest. Ludegran’s holding is just over yonder hill; he has moved his people from the valleys to a high place that overlooks the sea—a shrewd move, for the sea is where the danger lies, and he can now easily keep watch. This fort is an extraordinary structure, I have not seen its like…I am sure, in the future, its merits will catch on.”

  “Alas, this is how it shall be in many places, I fear; men will hide behind stout doors in high places and leave their farms behind,” said Ardhu. “I myself have built a hilltop fort, Kham-El-Ard—you will see it when we head back south. But back to this Ludegran: will he welcome so many of us, eating his supplies, drinking his mead? Although he supported me at Marthodunu, it is hard for men in these perilous times to feed unexpected guests.”