Taliesin: Book One of the Pendragon Cycle

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  "Thank you, Annubi. I am leaving now. I will be back as soon as I have spoken to him. It will not take long. Look after Father for me."

  Annubi snorted, "Lile will do that."

  "Just make certain she does not kill him."

  With that she went out. She had dressed herself in riding clothes: breeches and a short tunic gathered by a wide belt. She wore long white calfskin boots and bound her hair with the white leather thong she had used in the bullring. She threw a light, red cloak over her shoulder and went to the stables for a horse. She chose one of Eoinn's and ordered the stablemaster to have the animal saddled for her; she would leave the palace as soon as the horse was ready.

  The morning was clear, the clouds high and light, the countryside peaceful. She followed the coast road north along easy hills, feeling the sun on her back, listening to the birds filling field and sky with pure hymns to the sun, to the day, to life itself. And she could almost persuade herself that none of what she had learned in the last few days was true at all. There was no war, no coming destruction; her father was not ill, her brother still alive…She had dreamed it all in a hideous dream that had no substance in the bold light of day.

  The birds knew the truth and they sang it.

  But she knew the truth as well, a dark and disturbing truth that would not vanish because the sun shone and birds sang. And it fell to her to convince as many as would listen, beginning with Kian, the king's heir.

  She had never been close to Kian. Of Avallach's five children he was the first and well-grown by the time Charis was born. His world and hers were different from the beginning, which is why she felt she could talk to him now with some hope of persuasion. They had shared none of the small rivalries of nearer siblings, tending to regard one another from a generous distance.

  Kian was much like Avallach in most respects but quite unlike him in certain important areas. He had the same head of thick, dark hair, the same quick eyes and strong hands, the staunch loyalty which could as easily be applied to an ideal as to a person—a steadfastness of purpose which many might regard as stony stubbornness. He could be influenced, however, with a well-considered appeal to reason. Unlike Avallach, his head was more likely than his heart to guide his course.

  As Avallach's firstborn, Kian had always possessed an indelible sense of security which the king's other sons lacked. He would wear the circlet and robe of stars one day and that was that. There was no striving, no grasping, no need for proving strength or worthiness. All that spoke of doubt, and its attendant ambition, was absent in his makeup; there was not a false or wavering bone in his body.

  Charis rode along, becoming reacquainted with her brother in memory as the miles passed easily beneath the horse's hoofs. She followed the coast road north as far as Oera Linda, a small seaside town which boasted an immensely old library as its sole center of interest and activity. She had, as a child, accompanied her mother to Oera Linda many times and would have liked now to stay and see the place, but she did not want to risk missing Kian. So she hurried through the narrow central street and wondered that she did not see another human being as she passed. At the far side of the empty town, she turned her mount inland to cross the lip of land dividing the seacoast from the Nerus estuary.

  The road was well marked and she had no difficulty in finding her way. Though the land seemed as peaceful as she remembered, she met few people abroad, either on the road or in the fields. Most of the roadside houses she passed were deserted as well.

  By midafternoon she reached the divide and stopped to reconnoiter. On her right hand the slim peninsula carved away to end in a jumble of red rocks and surf; ahead the road slipped down to meet the Nerus, a broad silver band shimmering in the misty distance; behind lay the smooth, gold-rimmed line of the coast and beyond it the great arc of green-blue Oceanus, clean to the horizon.

  She watered the horse at a nearby stream and then remounted for the final leg of her journey, arriving at the watchtower as the sun sank toward evening wreathed in garish red-orange clouds. The tower, visible from a distance as it projected from its rocky promontory, was an easy landmark to locate and the road passed near it.

  Charis arrived hungry and tired, but the exertion felt good to her as she bathed her muscles in the warm glow of fatigue. She felt only the slightest twinge from her wound as she slid from the saddle to stretch the tightness from her shoulders and thighs. She let the reins dangle so the horse could crop the grass that grew on the spongy turf of the promontory and began walking around the tower.

  It was a rough stone square, rude and inelegant, broad at the base and tapering rapidly to its pinched-off top. The tower was a crude, cold thing erected by war's expediency, and until seeing it up close Charis had not given a thought to the fact that she might have to spend the night alone there.

  Neither had she given any thought to what she might eat. She had brought no provisions with her and had no way to make a fire. But the tower was strong, if gross, shelter and, she reflected, it would hardly hurt her to fast one night.

  She stooped through the cramped archway and climbed the narrow, winding stone steps inside the tower to a bare wooden platform. She walked to the stone breastwork to view the wide mouth of the estuary and the sea beyond, now stained the color of weathered bronze. Deep green forest crowded the far shore opposite the tower, the tips of the trees holding the fading, orange-tinted light.

  Although the air was still warm from the day, she felt cold in this place and wondered whether she would not be more comfortable elsewhere. She turned to inspect the platform. One portion was covered by a roof made of poles laid across the breastwork supporting a ragged thatch. Tucked away under this roof she found a blanket of sewn fleeces neatly rolled, and next to it a skin of water. There was a small brazier on a tripod with a crystal on a thong for starting a fire, but no fuel. Offered this scant accommodation, Charis decided to spend the night on the platform.

  She descended once more and led the horse to a rivulet a little way down the hill and from the tower. When they had both drunk their fill, Charis led the animal back up the hill, unsaddled it, and brought it inside the hollow base of the tower where she hobbled it for the night. She climbed the stone steps once more and dragged out the fleece quilt, spreading it over the uncovered end of the platform. Then she lay down to watch a sunset sky alive with swifts, flitting and darting after invisible insects. But it was a dusk strangely quiet and Charis reflected that being so near the sea she should have heard the cries of seabirds.

  She lay there until the stars came out and she fell asleep thinking about what she would tell Kian to convince him that the world was about to end.

  SEVEN

  CHARIS AWAKENED BEFORE SUNRISE. THE STARS WERE FADED lamps in the heavens and the eastern sky bore a blood-red streak that spread across the horizon like a wound. She could feel the heat of the day riding in on a southern breeze. It would be hot and the river valley humid. As she looked out across the estuary from the watchtower platform, she could see a blue haze hanging over the water and the forest-clad hills beyond. The air was rank with the fishy smell of the tidewash.

  She decided to walk to the river and bathe before the heat made her sticky and irritable. She had Kian to deal with today and wanted to be composed for what might well turn into a confrontation. Leaving the tower, she gave her horse to graze on the dew-speckled grass and made her way down the brush-covered slope to one of the innumerable streams which fed into the river.

  She had just pulled off her boots when she heard the rhythmic drumming of horses' hooves. "Kian!" she thought, and jerking the boots back on, she clambered hurriedly back to the watchtower just in time to see four horsemen pounding up the hill to the tower, plumed helms and riding cloaks flying.

  One of the horsemen turned in the saddle and saw her; he wheeled his horse toward her. In that same instant Charis knew he was an enemy.

  The other three rode past the tower and down again to the shore. She turned and gazed toward the sea. A ship,
dark of hull and sail, had entered the estuary on the incoming tide. It was still too far away to see any details, but she guessed that the ship was full of Seithenin's men, come to lay an ambush for her brother.

  There was no time to think what to do. The horseman was bearing down on her. She turned to meet him and saw that he had a sword in his hand. She backed away to give herself room. The rider saw the movement and, thinking she would turn to flee, spurred the horse to trample her from behind.

  But Charis did not flee. She let the horse gallop to within a few paces and then simply collapsed before it, rolling to the side as the hoofs thundered over her. By the time the rider turned the horse and trotted back to see his handiwork, Charis had reached the tower. She slipped inside unseen with one thought in her mind: warn Kian. But how?

  She gained the watchtower platform and ran to the breastwork. The ship had landed, a plank was down, and scores of men were streaming ashore to clamber up the steep, rock-bound bank. Whirling away from the breastwork Charis' eyes fell on the brazier. She ran to it and grabbed up the crystal, snapping the thong. The sun was glowing on the horizon, but the first rays had not cleared the rim of the earth. "Hurry!" she muttered under her breath and froze: Footsteps inside the tower.

  The bare platform offered no place to hide, but on a sudden inspiration she turned and grabbed the fleece and leaped onto the thatch roof. She lay on the flat roof and, turning the fleece over, spread it over her as the rider climbed onto the platform beneath her. Charis held her breath.

  She heard him move to the far side of the tower and peeped from under the fleece to see him, back turned toward her, gazing down at the ship and his comrades below. He called to them and waved and then turned to look inland. "He is not looking for me," she realized. "He means to stay here. Of course, that was his intention all along; he is to watch for Kian and give the signal to the others. Well, I can help him there," she thought gripping the crystal in her hand.

  Moving with infinite care, she stretched her hand to the edge of the fleece, turning the crystal this way and that, but the sun was not yet high enough for the rays to catch. "Come on, come on!" She urged the dawn to greater speed. "Hurry!"

  It was stifling beneath the fleece and Charis thought she would suffocate any moment. She pushed the fleece from her face and peered out. The enemy still stood half-turned away from her, looking over the landward hills. "Curse you, Bel! Hurry!"

  She felt the crystal grow warm in her hand, looked, and saw the thing glowing with a rosy-gold light as the first feeble light of day struck its surface. The crystal gathered the sunlight and focused it to a burning ray. Holding it very steady, she willed the stone to ignite the roof beneath her.

  A thin wisp of smoke rose like a thread from the coarse thatch and was joined by another and then another. The smoke threads mingled in the air and drifted toward the enemy rider. There was a flame now, a pale yellow fluttery thing, weak but growing.

  Charis held the crystal steady, giving the fire every chance to build. "Go, go! Hurry!"

  She heard a sniff and another. She glanced from beneath the fleece just as the enemy rider, smelling the smoke, turned toward her. She threw off the fleece and leaped right at him in the same fluid motion. With a loud yelp, the startled horseman fell backwards. Charis was on him in a heartbeat, tugging at the knife in his belt.

  The rider recovered from his momentary fright and grabbed her hands, but not before she had the knife. The man scrambled to his feet, his fingers tight around her wrists. Eyes bulging, he laughed unconvincingly. "You are real after all," he said. "I thought I had seen a shade down there." Then he looked beyond her at the flame sprouting over the thatch. "Here! What have you done?"

  She twisted her wrists in his grip and the blade bit into the flesh of his arm. "Ow!" He dropped his hands. Charis raised her knee in the same instant and planted her foot firmly on his chest. She kicked with all her might, springing backward through the air to land on her hands. The rider stumbled and struck the stone breastwork; his breath rushed from his lungs in a gasp and his helmet clattered from his head.

  Charis whirled to see the flame deepening, spreading across the thatch, a plume of white smoke thickening to a column. She grabbed the fleece and began fanning the flames.

  A moment later hands were on her, an arm thrown across her throat. She was dragged off her feet and thrown aside viciously. She struck the wooden planking.

  Pain shot up along her spine and into her brain in a sickening, black flare.

  The rider stooped and yanked the fleece out of her hand, turned and began beating out the flames.

  With a groan, Charis dragged herself to her feet. She stood, leaning against the breastwork, shaking her head to clear the gray mist from her eyes as the fleece rose and fell again and again. When the flames were out, the enemy horseman turned toward her. "Now I will settle with you," he said, his voice thick with rage. There was blood splashed over his clothing from the cut on his arm.

  The blow caught Charis on the jaw just below her ear and nearly took her head off. She rolled against the breastwork but did not go down. The enemy came toward her. She closed her eyes.

  His fist lashed out and smashed her cheek. Charis tasted blood in her mouth. Her fingers fought to hold on to the stone. The man drew his arm and loosed a vicious backhanded slap that snapped her head to the side. The pain cleared the gathering mist and she saw the rider coming for her, hands grasping for her throat; beyond him, the fire had rekindled. She slid back against the stonework, holding on with one hand.

  Her attacker stepped close and reached for her, but she spun, bringing the knife up as she turned. The blade slid easily between his ribs and blood spurted with a bubbling hiss as the pierced lung deflated. The rider stared at her dumbly, his hands fumbling at his side.

  "Stay back!" Charis spat through bleeding lips. "Come at me again and I will kill you."

  The fire crackled as the thatch caught and sent a gray-black cloud rolling skyward. "It will not do any good," the man wheezed, his hand pressed to his side.

  "We will wait and see."

  "They will see it down there and send someone."

  "Let them."

  "Give me the knife and I will see that you are not harmed."

  "Kian is my brother!" she snapped and then winced at the pain the words cost her.

  The rider grimaced and pressed his hand to his side. Blood streamed from the wound, and in the early morning light Charis saw that his face had gone the color of ivory. He swayed on his feet. "Give me the knife." He held out his hand and stepped toward her unsteadily.

  "Stay back!" Charis hissed.

  The rider lurched forward; his knees crashed down on the platform. His eyes rolled up into his skull, and he toppled onto his side and lay still. Charis stared at him for a moment and then cautiously crept to him. She pressed her fingertips to the side of his neck and felt the flutter of a weak pulse. She pulled the man's garment aside and examined the wound. It was clean and the blood already congealing. Her pit experience told her he would live.

  She heard a shout from below and with her hands on her knees she straightened herself, feeling hot knives ripping along her spine. The pain was making her groggy, but she gulped air to keep her head clear and moved to the stone breastwork. Six enemy troops had climbed the bank and were running up the hill to the watchtower.

  Charis sighed. She could not fight another attacker, let alone six. She turned and picked up the fleece and flung it onto the flames which were now burning furiously, their ragged red streaks angry against the pale yellow of the risen sun.

  The wooden poles that formed the beams of the crude roof collapsed then, scattering flames onto the platform itself. She backed away from the flames, hoping that Kian would somehow see the pyre and recognize it as a warning. She slumped against the stone as the enemy soldiers came pounding up the inside steps.

  A second later, the first one jumped through the entrance hole. He crossed the platform in three quick strides. Charis rai
sed the knife. The man's foot lashed out, and the knife went spinning from her grasp.

  An instant later her arms were jerked over her head and she was slung over the man's shoulder. She had a glimpse of two other soldiers tugging at the body of the rider she had stabbed. There was a dizzy swirl of smoke and darkness and then she was lying on the grass beside the tower, which had become a flaming beacon. She saw black smoke coiling into the blue sky and felt a warm tingle of pride force its way into her muzzy consciousness. If Kian is anywhere near, she thought, he will see it. He must see it.

  The soldiers had gathered for a quick consultation, which ended abruptly. One of the men came to her, jerked her upright, and hoisted her across his back. Two others helped their wounded comrade to his feet and they started back down to the shore.

  Charis allowed herself to be carried a little way while she gathered her strength. When the party reached level ground, the man carrying put her down to shift her weight to the other shoulder. That was all she needed.

  She stepped to the side and kicked at her assailant's knee. The man's leg buckled and he fell, yelling to his comrades, but she had already leapt away and had four strides on them before they knew what had happened. Ignoring the pain, she fled up the hill.

  As she reached the crest of the hill, one of her pursuers caught up with her, seizing her arm and spinning her around. She pulled her hands back, drawing him toward her and at the same time raising her knee sharply. The man gasped and crumpled to the ground, clutching his groin and rolling in agony. The next one to reach her was more wary, although no more lucky. He dived for her feet, hoping to trip her. She timed her jump perfectly and landed with both feet on his outstretched arm. The bone snapped with a sickening crunch and her attacker groaned.

  The next two took her together, closing in from either side; one had his knife in his hand. They lunged and lunged again. Each time Charis was able to elude them—dodging, feinting, always just out of reach. The soldiers cursed and rushed at her. She spun from their grasp, but the knife snagged her sleeve and she was caught. Instantly the enemy's hands were on her. "Got her!" he cried. "Use your knife!"