Chronicle of Ages (5 page)

‘Nearly done,' it said. ‘Please bear with us.'

She couldn't quite make out if the little being was a he or she, even though it was naked. ‘What is this in aid of?'

‘The Lord's orders,' it said.

‘The Lord?' Tory queried further.

That would be me.

Every little spectre suddenly sprang from Tory's dress and floated clear of her to assume a form the size of your average ten-year-old child, although their ages appeared to vary. All the winged beings fluttered, poised in midair, and Tory turned to observe the man they all revered.

Oh my!
thought Tory, for their Lord was rather large. He stood about eight feet tall, and although he had the physique of a warrior, he controlled the movements of his muscle-bound body with all the grace of a dancer.

You are more than you seem, Tory, Queen of Gwynedd,
he bethought as he circled her, admiring the handiwork of his folk.
You are not of the time period I obtained you from, nor are you of the breed you reside with.

‘I could say the same of you,' Tory replied, for if he spoke modern English then he'd obviously been hopping around time as Taliesin did. It was also plainly obvious that he was not of the same species as those folk he governed. He was one of the Goddess Keridwen's ilk; his large almond-shaped eyes of deep sea green and his pixie-like features were a dead giveaway.

You, like Taliesin, are a halfling demi-god … a human-otherworld cross.
The Lord observed her as if she were some exotic new breed of bug.
I must say, I did not expect my compensation to be this perfect.

As Tory was still preoccupied with the first half of his statement, it took a moment for the second part to sink in. ‘Compensation! Compensation for what … Conan's fort building?'

The Lord shook his head and made a slicing motion with his hand towards a nearby tree.

The trunk of the old tree parted to reveal a hollow in which sat Selwyn.

‘Selwyn!' Tory made a move to help him from his timber prison, and discovered her beautiful attire had a dual purpose. From the long train of flowers at the back of her gown sprouted thick, ivy vines that ploughed deep into the earth, rooting Tory to the spot. ‘Let me out of this thing!' she demanded.

This man has no woman, is that correct?
the Lord questioned, motioning to Selwyn.

Tory frowned — was this a trick question? Selwyn's expression was solemn and gave no indication as to the right response to give. As the Lord spoke to Tory in her own native modern English, instead of the ancient Brythanic tongue the Briton's used, Selwyn couldn't possibly have understood their dialogue anyway, so Tory told the truth. ‘That is correct.'

And this man answers to your husband, the Dragon of the Isle of Mon Anglesey?

Again Tory was confused, for although Selwyn had been born and raised in Gwynedd, he was Bard to the court of Powys these days. ‘Yes,' she replied simply, wondering where this line of questioning was leading.

The Lord smiled, satisfied, and looked to Selwyn.
Be
this the woman who means more to thee than any other in thy world?

Tears fell from Selwyn's eyes as he stared at Tory. ‘I have failed thee badly, Majesty.'

‘Nay.' Tory couldn't imagine Selwyn ever failing her. ‘There must be some misunderstanding —'

The Lord waved his hand and the neckline of Tory's dress grew to cover her mouth and silence her.

If Tory tried to pull the gag down it tightened to crushing intensity until she let go.

Just answer my question, Bard!
Gwyn roared.
I know she be the one, I just want to hear thee declare it.

‘Aye,' Selwyn conceded stubbornly. ‘This be the woman who means more to me than any other in existence.' The Bard bowed his head, unable to look Tory in the face.

The Lord laughed with satisfaction.
Enough,
he decreed, holding a hand to Tory's third eye, whereby she blacked out.

 

Upon receiving news of the Lady Cara's disappearance, Vortipor and Brockwell were forced to part company.

Brockwell wished to pursue his son, but as it was Cara who was in the greatest danger, Vortipor convinced the King of Powys to lead a force to Dynevor to contend with the army of Conan. As Brockwell felt fairly confident that his son could take care of himself, he agreed to allow the Protector to Bryce.

Vortipor hoped Brockwell's assessment of Bryce was accurate as some way downriver from Castle Dwyran the Protector and his hunting party found the Prince's horse.
After a quick search of the riverbank they found no evidence of a struggle nor any sign of Bryce's body. Another two horses were tracked further downriver, where they were found grazing peacefully on the lush grasses by the water's edge.

‘I am guessing that whomever hast abducted the Lady Cara made good their escape via boat,' Sir Queron assessed.

Vortipor was most frustrated by the development. ‘We know who hast taken her! And the young Prince of Powys it would seem.' The ruler calmed himself, not wanting to vent his frustrations on his most trusted advisor. ‘But surely, if Conan wast headed back to Gwent a ride across country would have been a faster route?'

‘Unless …' Queron hesitated to even suggest it, ‘Conan be bound for another destination altogether?'

‘Armorica?' Vortipor saw the possibilities that his champion's reasoning presented.

Both Vortipor and Aurelius had strong ties to Armorica, the kingdom on the closest tip of Gaul below Briton. This part of the world was now more commonly known as Brittany, due to the large number of Britons who had fled there during the Saxon invasion the previous century. Both Dyfed and Gwent had many seafaring vessels which sailed to and from Brittany to do trade with the Bretons who in turn traded with the Roman and Frankish empires beyond. This trade was achieved via Christian channels mainly, as the Bretons who inhabited the southern part of Brittany were, in the main, of that faith, as were the Franks and their Roman
neighbours. And although the Christian doctrines of these empires all varied, it still served them all to keep the trade routes open and prosperous.

‘If that be his mind, Lord Protector, we must pursue him by sea.' Queron pushed for a decision, for it was several hours in the saddle to the bay at Aberdaugleddau that harboured Dyfed's ships of trade.

Vortipor was hesitant to embark on such a mission, with his kingdom in peril. What was Conan playing at? Was Cara's kidnapping the diversion for an invasion of Dyfed, or was Gwent's invasion meant to distract him whilst Conan absconded with his wife?

‘I know my first duty be to my kingdom and allies,' Vortipor deliberated, finding no peace in his reasoning. ‘But I must go after Cara. Go back to Castle Dwyran and maintain the chain of command.' Vortipor mounted his horse. ‘Conan could not have brought a seagoing vessel upriver, so I shall take these men downriver and hopefully catch him up before he reaches his larger transport.'

Queron nodded. ‘Goddess go with thee, Lord.'

In his head Vortipor knew that he should be sending Queron after his wife, but his heart would not allow it.
May the Goddess forgive me for abandoning my duty to pursue my own selfish ends,
he prayed. The Protector looked to his champion, his expression grave. ‘In the event that I should not return, Queron, my daughter —'

‘Have no worry on that count,' the middle-aged knight assured him.

Vortipor was pleased to be spared from having to fully consider the consequences of his decision. ‘Follow
me.' He waved the rest of the search party on to assist in the recovery of his wife.

 

Rufus was kind enough to extend his services on this last mission to include a flight to Craig-y-Ddinas. When Sir Leoline had found the city coffers pilfered, Maelgwn thought it high time he visited Craig-y-Ddinas to assess the situation there for himself.

The King of Gwynedd was by his dragon in the courtyard, bidding Leoline farewell, when he spotted a man in monk's attire heading into the back of the castle via the servant's entrance.

‘It wast my king's wish to receive the burial rights of both the native and Christian faiths,' Leoline explained, as he followed Maelgwn in his pursuit of the holy man.

‘Samson?' Maelgwn called after the monk, who stopped and turned around upon hearing his name called.

It took a moment for Samson to put a name to the face of the warrior before him, although it registered immediately that he had known him well. The monk smiled as it finally dawned on him. ‘Maelgwn Gwynedd … King!' He bowed upon realising how far the man had come since they had studied together under the Roman priests of Dumnonia.

Maelgwn waved off the formalities and strode forth to embrace the man who had once been a close and trusted friend. ‘What art thou doing here in Gwent?'

Leoline backed off a little when he realised the men knew each other.

‘I reside at the monastery in Glamorgan these days,' Samson returned the King's fond sentiments. Maelgwn
stepped away to observe him and Samson saw the added surprise on the King's face.

‘Father?' Maelgwn noted from the attire that Samson was more than just a student of the Roman priests; he had taken up their cause.

The priest gave a nod of confirmation. ‘Lord Bishop, in fact.' Samson smiled at Maelgwn's shock. ‘For two lads who were once so alike, we certainly grew into very different men.'

‘Not so different, I think.' Maelgwn always knew a kindred spirit and he felt sure the years had not changed this man that much.

‘What a shame that my king hast urgent need of —'

The bells of the city tolled to announce the King's death.

Dread filled Samson's face as he looked to Leoline for confirmation.

The knight nodded, solemnly.

‘I wast with him,' Maelgwn informed, placing a hand on the Bishop's shoulder for reassurance. ‘He went to the Goddess in peace.'

Samson's attitude towards Maelgwn took a sudden swing towards annoyance, and he shrank from the King's touch. ‘He went to God,' he corrected, ‘the one Almighty God.'

‘But there be more to the one Almighty God and his dominions than Christianity be willing to accept,' argued Maelgwn. ‘I have read the Scriptures, Samson, which art seriously misleading and contrived.'

‘Seriously misleading and contrived!' The Bishop could hardly contain his disdain. ‘Thy wife be a
warrioress from the future who hast been given supernatural powers by a trine goddess. Thou dost consort with Gods and wizards in otherworldly realms, summon dragons from the ethers, invoke the elements, fight with witches, and almost single-handedly take over entire kingdoms!'

Maelgwn nodded in accord with everything Samson had said. ‘Thee left out that we drove back the Saxons and allied six kingdoms.'

‘With a fanciful lie!' Samson snapped.

The King's tale spinning had cost the local monasteries dearly, as the people of Gwent Is Coed had flocked back to the far more festive ways of the native faith.

‘Aurelius Conan will expel thy nonsense from this kingdom,' Samson stated with great conviction, but he refrained from further comment as Leoline shook his head to the negative and informed him:

‘There have been developments that seem to indicate that Conan hast fled the kingdom.'

‘Nay, surely not … Conan hast spent so many years preparing for this appointment.' Samson was devastated by the news.

As there was no condolence that Maelgwn could conceive of that might ease the Bishop's disappointment, he backed up. ‘Well, I must away. I shall keep ye informed of my findings.'

Samson watched Maelgwn leave, then wandered into the courtyard outside the kitchens to sit for a spell and recover from the unexpected news. A large object passing overhead cast its shadow over the Bishop. He
looked up and, for a moment, he thought he saw a large winged beast ascending towards the clouds overhead. ‘Dear God!' Samson stood, shading his eyes to get a better look, but the creature had gone.
I wast told the Dragon's madness was infectious.
Samson worried about his own soundness of mind, then resolved that he would not be fooled as others had.

Even before Samson had met him, Maelgwn had been credited with feats of otherworldly magic, which as a Prince he had never confirmed or denied, nor even mentioned.

Because he wast in God's fold, and thus could not spin the lies he dost now,
Samson reasoned.

‘Lord Bishop.' Leoline handed him a goblet of water. ‘It be a great shock, I realise.'

Samson wasn't sure if Leoline referred to the death of the King, the disappearance of the Prince, or the apparition of a dragon in the sky. Still, he accepted the drink. ‘Where wast the Dragon headed?'

‘To Craig-y-Ddinas,' Leoline explained, hesitant to say more.

‘But Craig-y-Ddinas be in the heart of a wilderness?' Samson frowned, inviting the knight to fill him in.

‘Conan began the construction of a fort there,' Leoline began, ‘and since then there have been reports that the Otherworld hast broken loose in defiance.'

Samson had never heard such rubbish. ‘Sir Leoline!' He was surprised that the knight would give such stories any credence, for he was supposedly a supporter of Christianity in Gwent Is Coed. ‘Thou art not aiding God's cause by —'

‘I am only telling thee what hast been reported, my Lord Bishop.' Leoline had predicted the holy man's reaction.

‘Who hast reported thus? Maelgwn Gwynedd?' he queried, as if it was a foregone conclusion.

Leoline shook his head. ‘My own men,' he said bitterly, as some of his soldiers had gone missing. ‘Best that thou dost leave to the crown what be the crown's business, and see to thy charge before the druids arrive to administer their rites.'