Veneficus: Stones of the Chosen (16 page)

Just then a falcon alighted on a branch alongside him and screeched a message before arrowing back over the horizon on its return to shadow the army of Penda.

“By the Hounds of the Otherworld, that’s fine crinkum crankum.” He chuckled. “Forty-one wolves dead, one-tenth of her slavering lupine army poisoned.” He turned to Twilight. “And all because of a little knowledge of local plants, eh skirmisher.”

Twilight remembered the relevant section of the Elder Pen-dragon couplet. “Feel the sun, plunge the earth, whisper plant, whisper birth,” he said quietly.

“Ahhh,” sighed Merlin. “There you have this one and the next one. Before we move on from this place we will also
plunge the earth.
That should take care of a few more of her allies.”

“You have another plan?” asked Twilight.

The green eyes of the veneficus glowed. “My mind is a firefly of plans. All of them now centered on ridding this earth of that cursed wolf-woman.”

“And Penda and his army?”

“They are but men who seek to conquer for nothing more than religious power. There will be such armies to the end of time. She is different. I haven’t got to the bottom of it yet, but her purpose in all this is something altogether more meaningful.”

“Sinister, left-handed, the hidden warnings from Mael, her wish to be introduced as your successor at the Festival of the Dead.” Twilight mused. “Are there greater powers beyond even those of the mighty line of venefici in all this? The gods themselves perhaps?”

The long magus looked at his charge admiringly. “You are learning quickly. Those are my thoughts also. We will ponder on it more as events offer us clues. In the meantime we have a loss to consider. In retribution for the deaths of her wolves, Elelendise has set fire to the mighty Savernake. As we sit here at the top of this mighty oak, many hundreds of other trees are burning to ash in a raging inferno engulfing the mighty woodland. My falcon tells me the entire forest will be nothing but smoldering embers by the morning.”

Twilight was silent as he absorbed this.

“Are any of our birds caught up in it?”

“No, all are safe other than the loss of their habitat.”

“Other animals?”

“Everything that cannot burrow deep, fly, or run fast to escape the raging flames will be consumed within them.”

“Can you stop it?” he asked.

“Again, no. It would take too much power and leave me weakened. It will be a long time, especially for the trees, but eventually the forest will grow again.”

After a while the long magus began to mutter to himself in the Latin tongue. After some time he turned to Twilight.

“Can you arrange for ten pairs of pica to attend us?” he said conspiratorially.

“At once,” replied Twilight. “Do I sense another plan, one of those fireflies perhaps?”

Merlin snorted in appreciation. “I have a question for you. Of the five senses - hearing, taste, smell, sight, and touch - which do you think is the most useful in a war such as that we are engaged in?”

Twilight pondered long and hard. “It is a difficult question because all of them have a use, but I would say the most valuable would be sight.”

“Umm. Summon the ten pairs. We’ll put it to the test.”

In the early hours of that morning as Penda’s army slept on the chalk hills above the smoldering remains of the eastern fringes of what had been the mighty Savernake forest, ten pairs of pica glided silently and unseen between the evenly spaced sentries and landed on the ground. The air was thick with the smell of wood smoke from the forest inferno, which mingled with the same smell given off by the dying embers of the many campfires around which each cohort of ten soldiers slept. The ten pairs of birds, their black-and-white plumage offering the perfect camouflage against the dark night, hopped toward one circle of soldiers. With his weapons by his side and feet toward the fire, each soldier lay on his back covered by a rough woven blanket. Remaining in pairs the birds positioned themselves on each side of the snoring head of a soldier and waited.

“Now,”
the clear, young voice of their liege-lord sang in their heads simultaneously, and each bird stabbed down purposefully with its sharp, black-tipped beak. Through the closed lid and deep into the soft eyeball of the slumbering soldiers.

As the agonized screams shattered the darkness the birds flew off silently … leaving ten blind soldiers and a single blue feather.

Later that day, with the blinded soldiers being escorted back toward the north, the army struck camp and began to move slowly further westward across the verdant Wessex landscape. With scouts forward and outriders and wolves on both flanks they marched purposefully toward the Celtic heartland … into an area strewn with prepared adder pits.

Plunge the earth.

The pits had been prepared with typical Merlin cunning in that they were rectangular camouflaged pits randomly placed across the tracks and sheep walks over which much of the army would pass. At a man-and-a-half deep there was nothing in the bottom of the pits so that when the thin, grass-covered branches gave way under the weight of four soldiers and they tumbled in, nothing happened.

Until they stood up.

Ledges had been dug at head height around the upper part of each pit. It was here that many adders had been placed. The noise and tumult of soldiers clattering into their pit was guaranteed to upset the adders.

Fifty-five soldiers died from poisonous adder strikes in the head and neck before Elelendise brought the situation under control by once again bringing the entire panicking army to a halt whilst she located the remaining pits and set fire to their reptilian inhabitants.

In a small valley Elelendise called the pack leaders of her wolves together. They were nervous and whined and belly-crawled in her presence.

“One of your greatest gifts is the sense of smell. Beware. It can also be a weakness. Our enemy is cunning and will play to our strengths as well as weaknesses. Do not rush into any situation. If you see, scent, or sense anything unusual, let me know before reacting to it.”

An old male pack leader called Pad with three white fur-covered paws whined and asked if he could say something.

“Our problem, supreme mother, is that we cannot fly. We could quickly reduce all those chickens to a feathered mash if we could get them out of the trees and onto the ground.”

This was greeted with a chorus of approving yelps from the others. Elelendise stroked the little white Lupa cradled in her arms and thought for a moment.

“You have given me an idea, old pack leader. Worry not. When the appropriate time comes, you shall all have your grounded chickens, and the air will be thick with their feathers. Now, go back to your stations and remember. Our enemy is everything and anything. He can take many forms. Stay on guard and ultra cautious at all times.”

Penda summoned his counselor.

“I have just received word that my wife and daughter and their escort are making good progress and will be with us tomorrow. In view of our recent losses - in particular the blinded soldiers and those killed in the adder pits - I am worried for their safety. They are very precious to me and must not be put in any danger. As much as I yearn to see them both again, I will not play with their lives and will turn them around now unless you can convince me that they will be safe.”

Elelendise nodded. “My lord, I won’t deny that the old magus and the tyro star-gazer have had some brief moments of joy at our expense and there may be more, but, as thus far, their victories will be minor, whereas ours will be the last and winning one. As for the safety of the queen and Princess Rawnie I will create something very special to guarantee their complete safety, even against the cowardly rune-lore sorcery of that miserable old man and his novice stripling.”

King Penda raised an eyebrow at her confidence.

“Guarantee?”

“Yes.” Elelendise smiled. “I guarantee that they will not come to any harm.”

“What is this creation that enables you to make such a guarantee?”

The wolf-woman looked at the Christian king for a few moments before answering his question. “I will create the most deadly, dedicated protection device ever seen on this earth. It is unnatural phenomena and cannot be bettered as a killing machine. Its only function on earth is the dedicated protection of the queen and princess, and its presence will be unknown to them for it is invisible to the human eye and will not interfere with their daily life. Even as we speak it is in close attendance and guards their every move. Its presence is permanent. It cannot be destroyed by others, and only I can switch it off.”

“What is this protection device called?”

“A Watcher, my lord. They have their very own Watcher.”

“Would that I had any number of such devices. They could replace my army.”

“It is only possible for me to create and maintain one such device due to the power required to keep it functioning to the maximum of its capability. Just the one acts as a drain upon my own powers. Were it possible to create and maintain even a small platoon of such devices, no human army in the world, however large, well-equipped, and trained, could resist them. It functions only to protect those to whom it has been dedicated. That is the extent of my guarantee.”

The king nodded his satisfaction. “Then, with the protection of this Watcher they shall continue their journey and be with us tomorrow.”

“There is another matter I wish to advise on, my lord.” Gently stroking the dozing white wolf pup’s ears cradled in her arms she awaited for Penda’s approval to continue.

“What is it?”

“Winter is closing rapidly upon us, and we are nearing the marshlands of Summer Land. History has shown it to be the very worst terrain for an army to fight on in winter. Two days’ march from here is a place that will keep your men secure for the winter whilst enabling smaller, lighter, and more maneuverable raiding parties to carry the Christian fight to the pagan Celts throughout the settlements of Wessex.”

“What place?”

“A poorly defended hill fort called Cadbury Castle.”

Penda paused for a moment.

“I have heard of this place, counselor. Wasn’t it something to do with King Arthur?”

“It was, my lord. He called it Camelot.”

The circumstances and numbers of dying mortals were an irrelevance to Tiresias. Humans were expendable; the only concern was that their deaths, sacrifices, or suffering somehow contributed to his amusement or great plan. The more that died the more to inhabit the charnel house of his domain, the hell that was the mists of the cowerers. His ultimate satisfaction would come with their release upon an unsuspecting earth.

His plan had taken a long time to come to fruition. Now that old fool Merlin needed supplanting and everything would be set for the release of the entire population of the raging cowerers from their mists of hell at the next Equinoctial Festival of the Dead.

What would happen then? Even he, a member of the mightiest Presidium of nine principal gods, wasn’t sure, but one thing was certain; it would be the grandest ever spectacle for him and all the other gods and put him in a most favorable light with Zeus for its sheer brilliance and execution.

If, that was, the gods themselves, in all their omnipotence, were safe from the released mists. If not, old orders of immortal dominance would have to change.

Now that was playing with the foundation of the worlds.

Merlin and Twilight appeared at the solid wooden drawbridge of the looming Cadbury Castle. The guards on the gate, taken by surprise at their sudden presence, challenged them fiercely with raised spears until the long magus calmed them with an iridescent look and asked them to kindly summon Godwinson.

A few minutes later a tall, flaxen-haired young man with broad shoulders and keen, clear blue eyes strode across the castle keep toward them, buckling on his sword. He stopped with a puzzled look before executing a low bow.

“Your method of arrival and demeanor tells me you are none other than Merlin … the long magus himself,” he said in a strong voice, straightening up. “It is a great honor to meet you at last and welcome you back to Cadbury Castle.”

Merlin bowed in return before looking closely at him.

“You bear a striking resemblance to Sir Gawain Godwinson, your father, when he was no more than twenty winters.”

Godwinson smiled. “Before the many battles that you got him into changed his features somewhat, eh.” He continued. “It is seven winters since his death, paradoxically, considering his fighting life, of old age.”

“He was,” said Merlin quietly, “one of the bravest men I ever met and one fully deserving of a long life. And your mother, the fair Eleanor, what of her?”

The handsome young knight was silent in reflection for a few moments. “She has been gone five winters.”

Godwinson indicated a mound under a small oak tree in a corner of the courtyard.

“They are buried side by side over there …” He paused for a moment. “Although their souls will reside elsewhere, probably in different places. A matter you will no doubt know more about than I.”

Ignoring the remark, which showed an insight and understanding beyond young Godwinson’s years, the long magus dropped his chin to his chest in their memory for a short while before indicating Twilight beside him.