The Dark Age (34 page)

Cadogan drew his sword and wielded it back and forth in warning.

Vanora, as usual, sounded completely unaffected by it all. ‘The child in thy womb be dead anyway, thee may as well let it out.'

‘Like I would take thy word for it,' Tory replied. He wasn't dead, she could feel him fighting it, but god knows what damage the poison had already done to the tiny foetus. ‘What hast she promised thee, Cadogan? The same deal as Caradoc? For his loyalty he became a diseased banquet for the rats down below.'

‘Caradoc was a fool,' Cadogan snarled; she'd hit a nerve.

‘Thou art the fool, Cadogan, for believing this juvenile capable of keeping her word.'

That was it. Regardless of orders to the contrary, Cadogan swung his sword at her, mid-height, and there was no escaping the blow. Tory turned and ducked to avoid the blade making contact with her body, thus taking its full force in her upper left arm. The pain was real. She fell to her knees, gripping her arm as the blood gushed through her fingers.

‘Hold her,' Cadogan ordered the guard as he hauled Katren aside by the hair and cast her across the room to the bowman.

‘Nay, Sir Cadogan please,' Katren begged him. ‘Gwynedd took thee in when thee had no other. How can thee betray her like this?'

Vanora, annoyed by Katren's whimpering, slapped her hard across the face. ‘Save thy breath.'

Katren spat at the Princess and for a moment they glared at each other, neither wavering.

‘Kill her,' Vanora resolved, as she turned to see how Cadogan was doing.

‘Wait! We may still need her.'

‘Now what?' Vanora was losing her cool.

Cadogan, with a knife hard to Tory's throat, dug through her layers of clothes to take hold of the charm. But it would not be pulled off. ‘It will not break, not even my steel can budge it.'

‘Curses!' Vanora thumped her foot like the spoilt child she was. ‘Take it off!' she demanded.

‘I cannot,' Tory said, remaining very calm. ‘Only the Dragon himself can remove it, as he was the one who placed it there.'

Vanora's black eyes were filled with spite as they glared at her. ‘We shall see about that.'

 

The sight of the Saxons raising the portcullis of the outer bailey at Arwystli was satisfying for the young King of Gwynedd, as he watched from the cover of a ridge.

‘Won't be long now,' Tiernan affirmed, speaking the King's mind for all to hear.

‘Why do we not get the dragon to storm the castle before us,' Angus wondered aloud. Since they had such a show of power, why weren't they using it?

‘This dragon and myself art synonymous these days I'm afraid, and I want none to know of our presence,' Maelgwn explained.

The huge beast was rolling around in the snow like a dog with an itchy back. Ione applauded the antics of the creature, simply delighted by its play. She didn't seem to fear it at all as she approached the dragon with a large forked stick to help relieve its frustration. The group of men nearly dropped dead when she served its thick scaled hide with a good scratch, right in the place it sought to reach. This was much to Rufus' satisfaction, as his eyes rolled about in his head uncontrollably, his tongue hung out the side of his mouth, and his tail lashed about, kicking up more snow.

‘Ione, it be time,' the King called her back to the others, who pulled black masks over their faces.

Maelgwn drew his new steel sword and held it out before him, then the others brought theirs to rest across it.

‘Go forth in the name of the Goddess this day, recalling all she hast taught thee. May the might of Gwynedd prevail and may the Great Houses guide and protect us all.'

‘So be it!'

 

The battle raged on in the city below. From what Katren could surmise from the prison tower, the Saxons appeared to be the stronger force. She turned back to view the Queen, whose hands and feet were now shackled together. The guards hadn't bound Katren, as
they obviously didn't consider her to be a threat. She'd wrapped Tory's wounded arm with a strip of material torn from her skirt. Katren had never before seen Tory so despondent.
She certainly be worried about her babe,
she reasoned, for Tory had said naught since the guards departed.

Tory gazed quietly at the shadows on the floor. She was thinking of Caradoc's death, or rather just after it, when she had cried, ‘Get me out of this place.' She was considering in retrospect that she'd been referring to her whole situation, not just Arwystli. This truly was the age of darkness and Tory knew her current plight was only a taste of what her future, as Queen of Gwynedd, held in store. Every day here was a fight for survival. What if her unborn child did live? What kind of a future would he have? There would always be someone waiting in the shadows to do Gwynedd out of an heir. Her thoughts turned to home, her parents, her house, and her studies; the tranquillity and anonymity were just a cherished memory. If she returned to the twentieth century next summer solstice, as Taliesin suggested, would she even know her parents, or worse, would they know her? If, of course, they even existed within the new reality she would encounter upon arriving home.

There are three candles that illuminate every darkness, child.
Tory recalled her father's voice so clearly that it brought tears to her eyes.
Truth, nature, and wisdom. View life's dilemmas with their combined enlightenment, and you will always find the right solution.

As Tory considered this a feeling of intimacy swept through her body, filling her soul with the sweet recollection of the beautiful man she'd managed to secure for herself, and herein she found her truth. For she was bound to Maelgwn, not by patronage or law, but by the very knowledge of his existence. Even if she could escape this nightmare of an age, life without him would be far more torturous than any horror Chiglas or the Saxons could dream up for her.

Once again she heard the door downstairs open.

Come on, Tory, it's your very nature to fight. And if the universe in its wisdom has seen fit to throw this test your way, you must meet the challenge head on and to the best of your ability.

‘What should I do, Majesty?' Katren asked, fearful of the outcome.

‘Only what thee must to save thyself. If thou finds an opportunity to flee, take it,' she stressed as they looked to the stairs.

They were both very surprised to see only Princess Vanora and a small hooded figure.

Katren remained frozen, her back against the wall, as the hunched little figure hobbled slowly towards the Queen.

‘We meet again, Sorcha,' the old creature croaked, removing her hood to view her prey more closely.

The hag appeared older than time itself, and Tory could easily sense the evil emanating from her. Warts covered her face and hands. Her straggly silver hair hung dead around her diseased features, and her fingernails were as long and sharp as knives. Albino in
colouring, the witch's pupils were red within an iris of white.

‘Nay Mahaud, her name be Tory Alexander, Maelgwn's Queen, brought from the future by the Old Ones.'

Mahaud burst into laughter. ‘It be Sorcha, make no mistake. Taliesin hast learnt some new tricks. But, of course,' the old crone looked at Katren and with a wave of her hand the maiden fell unconscious, ‘it shan't do him any good.'

That's what you think.
Tory attempted to strike at Mahaud but the shackles hindered her attempt.

‘And, as usual, I am right.' The witch extended her arm in Tory's direction, the tips of the hag's fingers glowing red as hot coals.

Every muscle in Tory's body suddenly froze, and her shackles fell away to the floor. She then rose to a stable, horizontal position about a metre above the floor.
So, you are the source from which Vanora is learning her craft?

‘Aye,' the witch confirmed. ‘Did thee not get my message? I sent it twice, so thee cannot say I did not give thee fair warning.'

The dreams, all the blood, Tory realised, her panic rising.

‘It be the future thou hast seen,' the witch taunted, ‘thy future! For as thou art about to discover, my sweet, there be a fourth side to the Goddess.'

 

The King and his small band entered the outer bailey, cutting their way through the commotion. Neither the Saxons nor Chiglas' men could figure whose side the
masked warriors were on, and most avoided the party to concentrate instead on the known enemy.

The fighting became more intense as they neared the inner-bailey portcullis. The Saxons could not raise the gate, though many of the barbarian raiders had scaled the fortress walls.

Ione, who was having a field day wielding fatal blows to every man who got between her and the inner bailey, drew the King's attention to the sky.

Maelgwn looked up as the huge shadow of a griffin fell over the fortress. The fighting waned as all gasped in horror at the beast, and many soldiers ran in fear of their lives.

‘Now we have a problem.' Vortipor observed the mighty creature circling overhead.

‘Perhaps not.' Maelgwn was quietly confident that this beast was the same one allied to Taliesin.

Those Saxon fighters who had been scaling the wall, took their leave and ran away. But one huge warrior decided to stand his ground, cursing those who scampered in fear. The King recognised him as he had confronted this scoundrel in battle before. He was Ossa, the Warlord of the Saxon invaders. Ossa was the son of Octa, who had plagued Ambrosius, High King of Briton, and Caswallon, in his early days as King of Gwynedd. The King and his knights didn't understand much of the Saxon language, but through the Saxons' alliance with Chiglas many of their foe had learnt the native tongue. Thus it was understood by Maelgwn and his band that Ossa accused the deserters of being no better than a bunch of women.

Ione caught the comment, and as she was to the Saxon leader's blind side, she gave him a kick up the butt for the insult. Ione ripped the mask from her head to make her gender plain and held her sword poised to challenge him.

Ossa let loose a riotous round of laughter upon seeing her. ‘Well my lovely, want a taste of my sword, hey?'

Tiernan, who was also well aware of the Warlord's status, ran to Ione's aid. But when he saw she was holding her own, he slid to a stop on the wet snow to admire her prowess.

The big, brawny warrior was growing increasingly frustrated with her audacious moves. She was making a mockery of him in front of his men and his foe, and all seemed to be getting a good laugh out of it.

‘Great Goddess,' Tiernan uttered. ‘She be magnificent.'

As Ossa's anger mounted, his concentration and skills waned. Ione's moves became twice as daring, her strikes harder and more precise. Soon Ossa's sword was sent flying into the distance, and the point of Ione's sat poised at his throat.

‘I am sorry if I offended thee,' he grumbled.

Ione motioned him to his knees, indicating that she wanted him to beg. When he refused, she applied enough pressure to persuade him to comply.

‘Who art thou?' the warrior asked, more interested than angry.

Ione's beautiful dark eyes gazed down upon him a second, the perfect features of her face devoid of any expression.

As she raised her sword into the air, Tiernan fended off the Saxon soldiers who rushed towards her. With no time to procrastinate, Ione clobbered the Warlord in the head with the iron hilt of her sword, and he passed out in the snow. She turned to assist her partner with the masses but many of them backed away, fearing that perhaps she was the fabled War Goddess who had thwarted their attempt to take Gwynedd.

The griffin came to land on the wall that harboured the inner bailey portcullis. Warriors from both sides fled its path, and the ones who didn't became a fast snack for the beast.

Brockwell, having assessed the situation from the air, jumped from between the wings of the animal and took a stand on the wall to call to those down below. ‘Would thee like me to get the gate?' He appeared rather impressed with himself, for his question met with an overwhelming response from all below.

‘A champion indeed,' Maelgwn said, and was forced to smile as the portcullis went up and the barbarian warriors rushed into the fortress.

I thank thee, my friend.
Brockwell bowed to the Griffin, who'd lived up to its end of the bargain.
Thou art free to go.

Remember thy vow, warrior,
the beast cautioned, as it took flight from the battle scene.
For I will.

‘Speaking of which …' Calin made haste inside the castle.

 

As Katren came round she heard the muttering of an alien tongue being uttered in a deep, malign tone. It
sounded suspiciously like an incantation, and without moving she slowly opened her eyes to view the situation.

Tory was suspended in the air. The old crone was standing over her, and appeared totally focused on her task. Vanora, too, had her back to Katren as she stood close by Mahaud to witness the deed.

By the time Vanora sensed the movement behind her, it was too late. Katren served her a punch right in the vital point at the root of the nose, and the Princess dropped like a rock. She then turned her sights to the old woman, who seemed oblivious to the fact that anything had happened. Katren scraped together every ounce of bravery she had and moved to attack.

Without even turning from her hex, Mahaud waved a finger in Katren's direction and the young maid suddenly found herself airborne. She literally flew down the long spiral staircase without so much as touching one stair. The door to the tower downstairs opened to allow her passage and she was cast against the stone wall in the corridor outside, the door slamming shut behind her.

Katren jumped up at once to see if she could regain entry. When she could not, she began pounding furiously on the door. ‘Let her alone, witch. The Goddess will damn thee both to the Underworld for this.' She slid down against the heavy wooden door to the ground where she sat, helpless in the face of the tragedy.