Merlin and the Land of Mists Book Three: Galahad

by P. J. Cormack

  Merlin

  and the Land of Mists

  by

  P.J Cormack

  Book Three

  Galahad

  P.J CORMACK

  Best-selling author of

  “Excalibur, the Seeking for the Sword”

  A Spellbinding New Series

  “MERLIN AND THE LAND OF MISTS”

  Book One THE DARK LORD

  Book Two THE MINOTAUR

  Book Three GALAHAD

  Book Four THE DRUIDS

  Book Five HERNE THE HUNTER

  Book Six END GAME

  COMING SOON

  a magical new series

  “MALACHI’s QUEST

  Book One THE BEGINNING

  Book Two THE LEARNING

  Book Three THE KNOWING

  Book Four THE SEEKING

  Book Five THE FINDING

  Book Six THE ENDING

  Copyright © 2014 P.J Cormack

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  KINDLE edition

  PublishNation, London

  www.publishnation.co.uk

  DEDICATION

  For my parents

  Author’s Note

  ‘The Land of Mists’ was the Druidic name for that

  part of the United Kingdom now known as Wales.

  “When Evil stands at Camelot’s Gates.

  Then will come he of the Old Magic,

  In a time before the Raising of the Sword

  By the Old Magic will Evil fall.

  The Unicorn, the Dragon, the Raven and the Undead

  Will face those Evils that all Camelot dreads.

  By the Power of the Raven Boy and the Power of the land,

  Shall all be protected and all Evil withstand.

  Enchantment from a future long foretold

  That which will summon the boldest of bold,

  Comes the white haired boy at first untrusted

  He of Lancelot’s line but never corrupted.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  AVALON

  THE GREAT THRONE ROOM

  THE FUTURE

  “Emrys, Emrys.”

  The king was not given to shouting and certainly not to shouting at his oldest friend for this was a king who had ruled with a gentle hand. His reign would go down in the annals of history as a Golden Time when men, women and children could walk the paths and roads of his kingdom knowing that they would be safe both day and night. It was a time when all men were treated as equals and where a lord or a knight was no more favoured than a tenant farmer or a serf.

  The king had proved himself a warrior who was the equal if not the better of all the hero-warriors of the past. He was undefeated either in jousting or the hard blood-spattered reality of true conflict. Under this king the marauding invaders had been driven back into the sea and would not return in the king’s lifetime for his very name was enough to keep them at bay. His life had been blessed with happiness for he had taken a fair and beautiful wife to him and she was believed to be the most gifted and lovely woman in the whole of the king’s realm if not the whole of the world. The king also had a company of knights who loved and served him well for this was a time of great chivalry and every one of the knights would gladly lay down their life for their king, his kingdom and even the lowliest of his subjects.

  But now it had all gone hideously wrong and the king had seen his knights splitting into factions, some siding with him and others joining the army of the man whom he had believed to be closest friend and who had now become his bitterest enemy. Worse was to follow, his queen had become infatuated with this rebel knight and had either deserted the king or been taken by her lover far from Camelot

  The king was now out of his mind with grief and into this had come the desire to hurt and to punish. This man who had fought with such dignity and who had, on many occasions, spared his most vengeful enemies now sought the death of those he had loved the most.

  “Emrys, Emrys.”

  This time his summons was answered and a man entered the Great Throne Room of Camelot. The man was neither young nor old and there hung a mantle of great power about him. This man would become a legend who would be talked about for many thousands of years and who like the king would never be forgotten as long as there was breath in the men and women of Britannia.

  The mage approached the Great Throne, there was neither fear nor anxiety in the man’s face for he had, in his lifetime, conquered all who had stood against him whether of flesh and blood or the supernatural. This was a man who had fought and beaten demons and creatures from beyond the Underworld and the Abyss. He had not feared these and he certainly did not fear his king whose very birth he had engineered and who he had raised from a boy deep in the forests and hills of Avalon.

  “Emrys,” this time the king spoke quietly and the mage did not need any of his enchantment to see the deep hurt that was in the king’s very soul but still he remained silent for this was a time when the king needed to speak without interruption.

  “Emrys,” and this was not the mage’s birth name but a nickname that his mother had given him to confound others.

  “Emrys, I do not know what to do,” the king continued, “Tell me how I can revenge myself. Tell me how I can get my queen back.”

  The mage sadly shook his head, “This I cannot do, this is not a matter of enchantment this is a matter for men and you in particular. I’m sorry but I cannot help you.”

  For a moment great anger came across the king’s face and for a moment he reminded the mage sharply of the king’s own father for he had also been a man who was greatly gifted in battle but he unlike his son had been a poor king and very few had mourned his passing.

  “You know and see everything, Emrys,” the king said, “Always you have aided me and shown me what I should do. Why can you not help me in this or is it that you have betrayed me and made a pact with this turncoat, this du Lac.”

  “Me, betray you?” The mage spoke the words quietly and even the king could see the impossibility of this betrayal. The mage had forged the very realm of Britannia after the departure of the Elder gods and he had made it for this one man, this king.

  “Is there not some charm or potion that you can use to make her love me again?” The king asked.

  The mage’s eyes flashed at this.

  “Do you think me some long-nosed hag who peddles out her charms and so-called love potions that you ask this of me?”

  “Eleven great battles we have fought, you and I,” the king reminded his mage, “And always you were there by my side. Why do you not help me in this, Emrys?”

  “Eleven battles we have fought and there is but one more,” the mage replied grimly, “And I shall be there for you in this final battle at Badon Hill but I cannot help you to win back your queen. It is not my destiny and never has been.”

  “Your destiny,” the king had a mocking tone to his voice now. “And what is to be my destiny am I to be remembered as the king who could not keep his wife by his side and was cuckolded by his best friend and the most trusted of his knights?”

  A look of anger came across the mage’s face.

  “You will be
remembered as the greatest king this land has ever had or will ever have. You will be so remembered that men will write and sing about you when all others have been forgotten. No king who comes after you will ever be celebrated as you for this is a time of legends and nothing that we do or make here will ever be forgotten. True they will speak of your queen and her dalliance with this knight but it will never diminish you in their sight for they will recall all that you have done for Avalon and Britannia.”

  The mage had spoken with the voice of prophecy and the king was quick to recognise this. The king did not know whether he would be heralded, as his mentor had told him. But one thing that he did know was that this man, this mage was and always would be the greatest enchanter that the world was ever to know. This was the mage who had walked with gods and had fought with demons and the Creatures of the Dark. If, as the mage had predicted, the future people of Avalon, Britannia and possibly the whole world spoke of him then his mage would be even more remembered for no one or no mortal being had ever carried as much power as the man who stood before him now.

  Something that the mage had said caught in the king’s mind, “You said there is one more battle, Emrys, will I be able to rest after this?”

  The mage could hear the weariness in his king’s voice for this was a man who had given everything that he could to his kingdom and had never been allowed to rest, even from childhood.

  “There will be one more battle,” the mage said bleakly in reply, “The Battle of Badon Hill will be the last that you fight for Britannia and after that you will be able to rest until you are needed once again.”

  The king took a deep breath as he tried to make sense of what his mage has told him but there was, as there always was with Emrys, much that he could not understand but he knew that the mage had the Gift of Prophecy and if Emrys said it would be so then that is what would happen.

  Emrys could see all this passing through the king’s mind, he had a great sympathy for the man who sat on Camelot’s Great Throne for, like himself, the king was god-driven and those who ride with the gods will not have an easy ride. It had been the king’s destiny to rule first Avalon and then the whole of Britannia and this he had done but the task had not been an easy one and the mage was well aware that the man who sat before him now looked a good ten years older than he truly was.

  “It would be good to rest for a while,” the king admitted but then his face hardened and for a brief moment Emrys could see the exact image of the king’s father in the man’s face.

  “But still I must take back my queen,” the king said.

  “But not at the risk of everything that you have achieved,” Emrys told his king, “Not to lose everything that we have worked for and built here.”

  “And if I do nothing what will the bards say of that Emrys? Here was a king who was undefeated in battle but in the battle of his own bedchamber he could not keep his wife and was bested by the man that he considered to be the bravest and most loyal of his knights? What will they say to that? They will say what even I would say that this mighty king, this mighty warrior was a fool who could not keep the woman he loved in his bed.”

  Emrys shook his head for he knew that this was not true, the king would be remembered as a good and just ruler who was the greatest king that Avalon and Britannia would ever have. History would only briefly record his queen’s dalliance with Camelot’s Knight Commander if it recorded it at all.

  “One more battle, you say, Emrys,” the king spoke more to himself than to the mage. “One more battle and then I shall rest after this Battle of Badon Hill but before that I will see that I am revenged on this du Lac. He has taken that which is mine and which I have loved so I will take all that is his and which he has loved. Let us see how this ‘mighty’ knight likes that.”

  The mage’s eyes flashed a warning to the king, “This is not worthy of you, you must rise above this. It will not bode well for you or for Camelot if you besmirch yourself in this way.”

  Once again the king looked the very image of his father, “As you said, Emrys, this is not a matter for your concern and that is the finality of the matter. I will seize this knight’s son and chain him up in Camelot’s dungeon until his father returns my wife. If he refuses I shall kill the boy.”

  Emrys looked with horror at the king that he had created and who had so much greatness in him, but there were also flaws and he had always been aware of this. The mage knew that if the king did in fact kill the boy then the whole of Britannia would rise up and burn in a firestorm. This he would not and could not allow to happen. There was only one solution that he could see he must get to the boy before Camelot’s knights did and then he would see that this boy named Galahad was sent to a place and time where the king’s vengeance could not reach him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  AVALON

  THE GREAT STONES

  “My name is Galahad, my name is Galahad.”

  These were the thoughts that were repeating themselves in the boy’s head and it seemed that this was all that he knew. Desperately he cast around for any more knowledge about who or what he was. For a moment he thought that he was losing – or had lost his mind because nothing more came into his head. Then slowly and begrudgingly two more thoughts exploded into his consciousness.

  “Find Merlin.”

  “Tell him that I, Myrrdin Emrys, have sent you.”

  And that was all for there was no more, his whole life seemed to have been wiped out and replaced by these three thoughts.

  “My name is Galahad.”

  “Find Merlin.”

  “Tell him that I, Myrrdin Emrys have sent you.”

  Other than that the boy knew nothing of himself. There was no knowledge of his parents or even where he was and how this had happened to him.

  Anyone watching the Great Stones of Avalon that night would have seen great enchantment for this was the Old Magic and it had been wielded by the most powerful of its Mages to ever walk the Earth.

  It had been a clear but cold night with a full moon that some called a ‘hunters’ moon’ and the Great Stones had stood huge and primeval against the dark star-studded sky. It had started with what had looked like small thin coils of blue light running over and around the Great Stones. This was unusual but then the Great Stones were a place that was well used to the unusual for this, together with the centre Stones known as ‘The Dragon’s Teeth’ had, many thousands of years before, been a place of dragons.

  Gradually the blue lightning had grown in ferocity and size. It had weaved itself in and out of the Great Stones at an ever faster speed. For all its ferocity it had not touched one of the Stones. The lightning had formed a spiral around the Dragon’s Teeth and then had rapidly expanded outwards. As the writhing column grew it reached ever outwards until it did touch the Great Stones. Immediately the Great Stones of Avalon absorbed the Old Magic and then, with an explosion not unlike that of the crack of a seriously large thunderstorm, the blue fire jumped out of the Great Stones and leapt from Stone to Stone forming an impenetrable barrier of twisting, sizzling fire. As the Old Magic poured into the Great Stones other shapes began to appear in the swathes of this blue fire and these were of ghostlike spirits and spectres.

  The Great Stones ran with all the Power of the Elder gods so that it seemed as if Time itself stood still, even the stars in the night sky appeared not to be moving. Then blue fire arced upwards from the Great Stones and crashed down onto the Dragon’s Teeth. As the fire burnt furiously into itself a figure seemed to be materialising amongst the Spirits of the Old Magic. Gradually the form took shape and became increasingly substantial. It was a human shape but not that of a man for what the Old Magic had carried this night through Time and Space had been a child. The Old Magic spiralled around the figure and then, as its task was now completed it fiercely drained backwards into the Great Stones and then it was gone.

  With the withdrawal of the Old Magic the Great Stones of Avalon were once more dark as if this was an ordinary night. In the
centre of the Dragon’s Teeth the child was bent over and kneeling motionless on the ground, there was the very faintest traces of the blue fire running over the ground around the child and then this too was gone.

  The boy, for the figure was that of a boy, began to move. At first very stiffly but then, as he gained in confidence, the boy stretched out his arms and climbed unsteadily to his feet. The boy looked around as if trying to understand where he was and why he was here. The boy saw nothing except the Great Stones of Avalon throwing huge shadows in the light of the ‘hunters’ moon. Gradually he seemed to come alive and then he started to shiver for it was a cold night and he was naked. Steading himself against one of the Dragon’s Teeth the boy tried to make sense of where he was but he could not. He saw a Stone that was different from the others for this was lying on its side and he could see that there was a sword buried deep into the heart of the granite.

  On bare feet the boy crossed over to the stone and grasped the hilt of the sword. Something in his subconscious told him that if he could pull the sword from the stone then at least he would have a weapon and the boy had been a warrior. The boy pulled as hard as he could but the Sword was not for his Taking and eventually, with sweat running down his back from his exertions, the boy had to admit that he hadn’t moved it an inch.

  The Sword looked as if it had been stuck in the Stone for a thousand years and for all the boy knew it could be so held for another thousand years until the man for whom it was intended walked the earth. The boy wandered back towards the Dragon’s Teeth and then he saw a dark shape lying behind the largest Stone of the Circle of the Dragon’s Teeth. He had not seen it before and he wondered what it could be. At first he thought that it was a wolf which was bad news as he didn’t have any weapons with which to defend himself. But the boy was not a coward and stepped quickly across the moonlit Stones. He saw with a sigh of relief that the shape was a bundle of clothes together with a sword in its scabbard. He pulled out the clothes and saw that they were all his size as was the sword. Quickly the boy put on the clothes and buckled on the sword. He felt a lot better now that he was clothed and armed. It would not have been exactly ideal if he had been forced to wander around in this unknown country as naked as the day when he had been born.