The bear king, p.31
The Bear King, page 31
part #3 of Dark Age Series
‘First you, then your son,’ Gaia hissed.
Catia choked, clawing at the iron fingers digging into her neck.
‘All that has gone wrong is your fault,’ her mother snarled. ‘Since you were born, you were a curse upon me.’
How could her mother move so fast, be so inhumanly strong? Darkness swam at the edges of her vision. However much she flailed, Gaia pressed down on her with all her weight.
‘I will kill you and throw you in this pool for the dragons to feed upon. No one will ever know what happened to you. Not your husband, not your—’
Gaia’s head snapped down and Catia felt hot blood shower over her face.
Her mother reeled away, hands flapping at the air. Her eyes rolled and she wrenched herself round.
A boy stood behind her, a bloody rock clutched in his right hand.
Catia sucked in a juddering gasp of chill air and heaved herself up on her elbows. Her thoughts still spinning, she blinked until the lad’s pale face fell into focus.
‘Arthur?’ Gaia reached out one wavering hand, the other trying to stem the blood from the wound on the side of her head. Her features were red with it.
‘Myrrdin said you had a black heart.’ Catia felt chilled at the calmness in the boy’s voice after the violence he had committed. And that face, as still as the pool in which it was reflected. ‘Myrrdin said you would try to kill others, and then try to kill me.’
‘No, my darling boy. No.’ Gaia’s mouth worked against the blood dribbling into it. ‘I love you.’
Catia gasped. Her mother’s words somehow seemed to whip Arthur into a fury. Snarling, he grabbed Gaia’s sticky hair and thrust her head down, and down, until it splashed beneath the surface of the water. Gaia flailed, but her son was too strong.
‘Don’t!’ Catia cried.
Arthur didn’t seem to hear. He yanked Gaia’s head up. She choked and gasped, spewing water, snot bubbling from her nose. ‘Can you see them, Mother?’ he raged. ‘Can you see the dragons swimming? They will eat your face off, Mother.’
He thrust her head down again.
Lucanus choked as he raced through the smoke billowing along the hall from the blazing cart just outside the door. His footsteps cracked on the flagstones, puncturing the clamour of the battle echoing through the walls.
‘Where’s Gaia, and the boy?’ he shouted. ‘This slaughter won’t end until we have her.’
‘I know where she’ll be.’ Myrrdin hurried ahead, his robe swirling around him. Bellicus, Solinus and Comitinus pounded behind.
The five men thundered down winding stone steps. At the foot, Lucanus skidded to a halt, taking in the scene in an instant: Catia, sprawled on the floor beside a flickering torch, a boy – no doubt Arthur – plunging Gaia’s head into a dark pool. The queen’s feeble thrashes didn’t deter him. The lad scowled, as cold as anyone the Wolf had ever seen. He glanced at Myrrdin’s face, just as cold, and knew what part the wood-priest had played in this.
‘Wait!’ Lucanus cried.
Arthur looked up at him, huge eyes staring.
‘If you kill your mother here, you will be damned for all time. The memory of this will eat away at you like a worm in an apple, until there’s nothing left but rot. You’ll never be a good king. You’ll never meet the promise of the prophecy. You’ll be a part of this dark age that’s coming.’
‘She is damning me!’ Arthur’s voice cracked with such emotion that Lucanus took a step back. The lad looked to Myrrdin, almost pleadingly, the Wolf thought. ‘She has twisted my life, soured everything that she touched. And she would sour me too if I ever became king.’
Here was the poison Myrrdin had been pouring into the lad’s ear. But he was still just a boy, false king or not.
‘She cares nothing about me!’ Arthur continued. ‘Only the power I can give her.’
‘Leave her,’ Lucanus said, as gently as he could. ‘Spare yourself. I will deal with her.’
The boy sagged back as if all the emotion had been sucked out of him. Gaia wrenched up from the pool, gasping, water streaming from her.
Lucanus strode across the chamber and held out a hand to pull Catia to her feet. He wrapped his arms around her, just for an instant, as she glanced at Gaia, her expression caught somewhere between disgust and pity.
‘Leave,’ he whispered to her, ‘and take the boy with you.’ When she started to protest, he shook his head once. He watched acceptance light her face, and then a curt nod. Everyone there knew there was only one way now to prevent this battle from raging for ever.
Catia grasped Arthur’s hand and tugged him towards the steps. The boy’s gaze never left Myrrdin, Lucanus saw. Gaia cowered on the flagstones, surrounded by a growing puddle. She looked around the faces of the Grim Wolves. ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘I am a mere woman. Would you harm someone so frail?’
Lucanus felt a hand on his arm. Solinus was easing him to one side. ‘This isn’t a job for you,’ his brother said. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘No. There is something I need to say—’
Feet clattered down the stone steps. Thinking it was Catia returning, Lucanus spun round, but it was only Mato. His face was lined with worry.
‘Quickly,’ he said. ‘The Attacotti are coming.’
Lucanus frowned as the Grim Wolves snatched out their swords and formed a line in front of him. ‘What are you doing?’
‘We’re not going to let those Eaters of the Dead take you,’ Comitinus replied.
Lucanus felt his heart swell. Four Grim Wolves against that band of Attacotti? They must know they had no chance of victory.
Grey shapes appeared in the gloom by the steps. The Eaters of the Dead had arrived without even a whisper of a footstep. They prowled forward, crusted white forms emerging into the wavering torchlight. The shifting shadows added to the charcoal around their eyes so that Lucanus felt he was looking into empty sockets. As the Grim Wolves levelled their blades, he stepped forward and pushed his way among them.
‘We won’t let you sacrifice yourself,’ Bellicus growled.
‘The deal with the Attacotti for my life was made without my knowledge,’ the Wolf said, eyeing Myrrdin. ‘But I will be the one who decides my story.’ Gently, he eased the Grim Wolves aside. ‘The Eaters of the Dead are not here for me.’
All eyes flickered towards Myrrdin, but instead the Wolf strode over to where Gaia hunched. Her eyes widened in fear and she tried to push herself back, though there was nowhere to flee. Lucanus wrenched off her cloak and snatched down the strap of her dress. Yanking her round, he showed her bare shoulder blade and the brand of the Ouroboros upon it.
‘See the mark of the dragon,’ he called, his words reaching past the Grim Wolves to the Eaters of the Dead. ‘Here is what I promised you. In exchange for a king, you get a First Mother, the chosen vessel for the royal bloodline, sealed by the brand of power.’
Lucanus unfurled his fingers from Gaia’s shoulder and let her fall away. Without a backward glance, he marched past the gaping Grim Wolves, past the motionless Attacotti. His brothers followed him.
As the Grim Wolves climbed the stone steps, the whick-whick-whick of small knives echoed behind, and a scream that seemed as if it would never end.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The Curse
THE PICT CLAWED HIS WAY PAST THE CHARCOAL BONES OF THE wagon, rivulets of blood streaming across the black tattoos on his face from the wound on his head. He levered himself up on shaking arms and then collapsed into the drifting snow. Lucanus watched the light go out in his eyes.
Across the courtyard, the two armies crashed against each other, churning as swords hacked and thrust, shields clashed, and battle cries boomed. The Wolf stood on the steps to the queen’s residence and looked around the carnage. Bodies washed in a lake of blood. The cries of the dying and the wounded soared up into the howling wind whipping the snow into a wall of white.
‘The queen is dead,’ he roared, but his words were snatched away by the gale. Before he could utter another word, movement flashed on the edge of his vision and he slammed down to the frozen stone. He stared along a length of steel into the glowering face of Erca. The tip of the sword bit into his throat and he winced.
‘One move and he’s dead,’ the Scoti chief bellowed. His eyes flickered towards the Grim Wolves.
‘Gaia is gone,’ Lucanus said. ‘You’re relieved of your duty to fight for her standard.’
For a long moment, Erca’s eyes locked on to his, and in their black depths Lucanus thought he could read exactly what the other man was thinking. One thrust of that blade would end the life of his rival for Catia. An easy thing to do in the midst of a battle. What point living a life alone, raising a son, when there was another who would stand at her side?
The Scoti warrior wanted to do it with all his will, Lucanus could see that, but then he yanked his sword away and said, ‘The battle is over.’ He was an honourable man.
Lucanus levered himself up and ran out into the courtyard, barking, ‘The queen is dead. The battle is over.’ Erca’s voice echoed his, repeating his words to his own men. Swords slipped down, heads turned, the clamour stilled. And then there was only the moaning of the wind and the cries of those still clinging on to life.
As the two armies broke apart and tended to their wounded, Lucanus tramped over to Catia, who was huddling in the shelter of a grain-store doorway.
‘The Attacotti …’ she began.
‘Will be leaving without me.’ The Wolf held her searching gaze for a moment, and then she fell into his arms. A single sob of relief juddered against his chest.
‘They took your mother instead,’ he told her. ‘That was the agreement I made with them before the battle. Hate me if you will—’
‘How can I hate you?’ she said, pulling back. ‘Gaia didn’t deserve that fate … no one does. But if it means you’re safe … if it means …’ Closing her eyes, Catia leaned her head back and breathed in a steadying draught.
‘We’ll be together again,’ he said, ‘you, me, and Weylyn …’ His words died on his tongue when his wife opened her eyes. Tears shone in them. ‘What’s wrong? It’s over.’
‘It will never be over. The crown of the Pendragon is a curse. Today we have victory, but tomorrow another enemy will rise, or the day after that, or in the coming year, because the royal bloodline means power, and that’s a prize too great not to be seized by those who hunger for it. They will come for you, again and again and again. And then they will come for Weylyn, until his dying day. This will never end.’
Catia closed her eyes again and one hot tear slid out beneath her lashes.
Lucanus opened his mouth, but no words came. What could he say? His wife was right.
‘Why are we here, Myrrdin?’ Arthur shuddered in the bitter cold of the blizzard blasting across the battlements. He was not dressed for this weather. But what did it matter?
‘So you can look out across your kingdom.’ One last time. The wood-priest felt his chest tighten as he looked down at the boy who had been his student for so long.
This was the moment. One shove over those battlements was all it would take. One shove to break the lad’s body on the rocks below.
‘Look,’ he said, resting his left hand on the boy’s shoulder and pointing with his right into the curtain of snowflakes.
‘What? I can’t see anything.’
‘Lean forward.’
One shove and it would all be over. With Arthur gone, there would be no other rival. Weylyn would be free to claim the mantle of the royal bloodline and usher in the age of the King Who Will Not Die. Weylyn, who was sane, who did not have a blood-thirsting heart.
‘Where?’
‘There, in the distance. Lean forward.’
Myrrdin stepped behind the boy and rested both hands on his shoulders. Arthur clutched the snowy battlements and pulled himself right to the edge.
The wood-priest braced himself and readied to shove.
Except he couldn’t.
His arms trembled as he fought against himself for a long moment. But though the slightest effort would have tipped Arthur to his death, the will was not there. The druid pulled back, covering his eyes.
‘What’s wrong?’ Arthur asked. ‘Have I disappointed you?’
Myrrdin felt small arms wrap around his waist and he shook with emotion. ‘Run now,’ he said. ‘Down to the courtyard.’
‘Have I?’
‘No. You are a good boy.’
When he heard the footsteps patter away, he rubbed his burning eyes. Through the blur, he saw another figure striding towards him, a man this time. Lucanus stepped up to him, his cloak billowing in the gale.
‘I couldn’t kill the boy,’ Myrrdin blurted. ‘I wanted to … It was the only way to clear a path into the new age, for Weylyn. But I couldn’t … I couldn’t do it.’
‘Then there is a heart beating in that cold shell after all.’
Myrrdin pulled himself up, finding his composure. ‘You’ll regret my weakness.’
‘No I won’t. The death of an innocent boy is not a price I’m prepared to pay.’
‘Innocent!’ The wood-priest choked a bitter laugh. ‘If only you knew what lurks inside him. He is as mad and bloody as his father.’
Lucanus’ stare was so piercing he flinched. ‘I know you well enough, wood-priest. You and your kind have twisted lives with your plot. You’ve helped make this boy what he is. Now he’s your responsibility, to repair the damage that you have wrought in him, and to keep him on the side of all that is good. Make sure he doesn’t follow the path of his father and mother. Fan the flames of the humanity that must lie in his heart still.’
‘I don’t know if there’s any hope of saving him.’
‘We’re not bound by the stories others force on us. Dream up a better one for him.’
He turned on his heel and walked away. Myrrdin breathed in a blast of the bitter air, but still he was shaking. He felt as cold and desolate as the storm that swirled around him.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The Last Kiss
THE SUN GLISTENED OFF THE WAVES CRASHING ON THE BEACH. Out on the swell, the ships heaved at anchor, the sailors on deck basking in the last of the autumnal warmth. The bitter cold and snow now seemed a distant memory, but the battle stayed with them, in the wounded limping down to be helped into the rowboats, and the ghosts of those no longer there.
‘You survived, Pendragon, and what’s more you won a battle that by rights you should have lost,’ Niall of the Nine Hostages boomed. ‘Perhaps you are deserving of the title the druids have given you after all.’
Lucanus watched the oarsmen pulling another rowboat towards the ships in the bay. Most of the army were on board now, ready for the last stage of the journey back to the western lands. His heart ached for those farmers and merchants. They’d survived, but they wouldn’t be able to return to the lives they once knew. War changed men.
‘And what for you, pirate?’ he asked. ‘More plundering along our coast? You know we’ll make your life hell if you try.’
The red-headed Hibernian grinned. ‘I have my own crown to earn. And with the gods on my side, I’ll wager it will be in my hands sooner than any think.’ He looked around at the few still waiting on the windswept beach. ‘Don’t tarry here too long. I would be away soon and catch the currents.’
He strode off to inspect the soldiers splashing through the surf to their transport. He had a brightness to him, however dark things got. Lucanus liked him.
The Wolf sensed a presence behind him and he turned to see Amarina there. The hood of her cloak was pulled high, but he could just glimpse that familiar enigmatic smile in the shadows within.
‘Remember when we stood on the wall at Vercovicium looking out into the Wilds and we spoke of daemons and two worlds existing side by side?’ she said. ‘We’ve walked with daemons since then. And invited them into our hearts.’
‘We’re changed,’ Lucanus said with a nod. ‘None of us can deny that. And yet much remains from the days we remember so fondly. They were hard too, in their own way. But we have a habit of surviving.’
Amarina kept looking out to sea, but he sensed she was still smiling.
‘We’ve been friends for a long time,’ he continued. ‘I remember you rolling into Vercovicium with your girls, face like stone and a knife ready to wield on any man who said a wrong word. Truth be told, I was scared of you.’
‘Very wise.’
‘But now I’m proud of the woman you’ve become. You’ve earned our trust.’
‘No kind words, Wolf. It makes my stomach turn.’
Lucanus grinned. The same old Amarina. ‘I’ll need your wisdom more than ever now, with Arthur in Tintagel, and the wyrd sisters wanting their share of power with Morgen.’ He eyed Arthur and Weylyn kicking up sand further along the beach, for all the world like two young boys without a care. ‘You’ll need to walk between those two worlds, the worlds of men and daemons. Only you can do it. Only you know both.’
‘I can do it. Rest assured.’
The Wolf looked up at the seagulls arcing across the blue sky for a moment, and then said, ‘You never told me how you learned the ways of the Hecatae.’
‘And you will never know, so think on other things.’ She turned to him, and for a moment he thought she was going to hug him. But that was not Amarina. ‘Take care, Wolf. You trusted me with your plans. Now’s the time to realize them. And yes … you can trust me still.’
And then she was gone, sweeping across the golden sand towards the surf and the next rowboat.
For a while, he eased his head back, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face. When he was ready, he strode to where Myrrdin sat on a rock in the shade, watching the two boys at play.
‘It’s time,’ Lucanus said.
The wood-priest pushed himself up. ‘I ask you one more time – turn away from this path you’ve chosen.’
‘Your days of twisting my life are over.’ Lucanus strode away, knowing the druid had no choice but to follow him.
