Merlin

TWELVE

Thunder boomed in my head. Voices like angry hornets buzzed loud in my ears. BEASTS! BARBARIANS! The ground rolled away on every side like the swelling sea. I stumbled, fell, picked myself up and ran. Merciful Father, I ran, vomiting bile, gagging, choking, running on.

Behind me came a shout, and the ringing scrape of men drawing steel. The horn sounded. The Saecsens had been sighted.

Farewell, Ganieda my soul, I loved you better than my life.

It was a different Merlin who turned to meet the foe that day. My sword was in my hand, whirling, flashing – the regal blade of Avallach – and my horse was careering headlong into a company of Saecsen warriors, but I have no memory of drawing sword or reining horse to the fight.

Merlin was no longer present; I stood off and watched from a very great distance as an unthinking, unfeeling body performed the practised actions of war.

The body was mine, but Merlin had fled.

I saw faces rise before me… grim faces mouthing strange curses to unknown gods… hate-filled faces vanishing beneath flailing hooves… hideous faces writhing on severed heads as my sword carried them off…

The battle frenzy was on me; I burned with it. And the enemy felt the white heat of my killing rage. None could stand against me and, as the enemy force was a small one, it was easily overcome.

As the rest of my warband gathered to me, some of them wiping blood from their weapons, I sat in the saddle, staring blankly into the sun, my sword resting on my thigh.

I felt a hand on my arm. 'Lord Merlin,' began Pelleas, 'what is it?' His voice was as tender as a mother's with a fevered child. 'What did you see?'

The smoke from Custennin's stronghold ascended before us, and on the wind came the sound of shouting in the distance. I lifted the reins in my hands and urged my mount forward. 'Lord Merlin?' Pelleas asked, but I did not answer. I could not speak; besides; what answer could I make?

The barbarians we had engaged on the road had been returning to watch the ford – perhaps to ambush anyone on the trail and prevent them from coming to Custennin's aid. Their main party had gone ahead to attack Goddeu.

Even as my warband took this in, I was away, my horse pounding down the slope towards the lake that lay between us and Custennin's timber halls. As before, my body moved of its own accord. I knew nothing of what I did – only that which one man might observe of a stranger.

I was first to the fight, throwing myself into the thick of it. If there was a conscious thought at all, I believe it was that one of the Saecsens' hated axes would swiftly find my heart.

They had fired the first buildings they came to. Smoke roiled through the air, black and thick. Fair Folk dead lay on the ground, mostly women overtaken while hastening to the safety of the hall. I dropped six enemy before they knew I was among them, and five more Saecsens died before they could lift blade against me.

It was a band of forty all told; and with my thirty and those of Custennin's men who were not away on a day's hunting with Gwendolau, we easily outnumbered the enemy and made short work of them.

In truth, it was over almost before it began. My men had dismounted and were cleaning their weapons and looking among the dead for the wounded, beginning to assess the damage and take account of the losses, when we heard horses thundering into the settlement.

Gwendolau and his hunting party had seen the smoke, and they had ridden off their horses' hooves returning to the defence of their home. They came flying in, all alather, Gwendolau at their head with Baram at his side. He took in me situation before him, even as he drew his horse to a halt. He looked to his father first – who was standing with a hand on the collar of one of his dogs, trying to keep the animal from further worrying the throatless corpse before him – and then he saw me.

'Myrddin! You -' he began. The quick smile of relief faded, as the implication of what he saw hit him. Not even Custennin had guessed as yet. 'No!' he cried, startling those around him anew. 'Ganieda!'

He ran to me, seizing the bridle strap. 'Myrddin, she was going out to greet you! She was so happy, she -' He turned horror-filled eyes to the way we had come, thinking, I suppose, to see her returning safely behind us and knowing he would not.

He looked to me for an answer, but I sat mute before him, the brother of my beloved, who was no less brother to me.

Custennin came forward. Whether he also knew what had happened to his daughter, I will never know. For, in the same instant, we heard a sound to make the blood run cold:

A low, booming horn, like a hunting horn, but lower, meaner, a brutal, hateful rasping sound, created to inspire terror and despair in those who must face it. It was the first time I had heard it – though not the last, dear God in heaven, not the last – yet, though I had never heard it, I knew well enough what it was…

The great battlehorn of the Saecsen warhost.

We fifty turned as one man to see our doom sweeping down the hill to meet us: a massed Saecsen battlehost five hundred strong!

They ran to join battle, screaming as they came. I swear the ground trembled beneath their pounding feet! Some of the younger warriors had not encountered Saecsens in full battle array before – it was still rare enough then – and they saw the half-naked, fearless barbarians flying towards us, war axes glinting cruelly in the hard light, their powerful legs racing, racing like death to embrace us, their long wheat-coloured braids flying as they came.

I heard more than one man curse the day of his birth and prepare to die, when he beheld that awful sight.

We were outmanned ten to one – it took no scholar to reckon that! But we were a mounted warband. And a battle-trained horse is an incalculable asset in a fight, especially against Saecsens and their like who fight only on foot.

The fear all had felt at seeing the enemy was thrust aside as men remounted and readied themselves for the attack. Gwendolau called my name, but I did not respond, for I was already spurring my horse forward. I intended to meet the whole Saecsen host alone.

There were shouts for me to rein up, to halt and wait – and then Gwendolau took command and organized the charge, dividing our small force into two groups to try to split the onrushing wave. Our only hope lay in penetrating their battle line – smashing through once and again, again and again, wearing at them, taking as many as we could out of the fight each time, but never allowing them to close on us or surround us. We were too few, and they were too many – we could not survive a pitched battle.

As for me, I had no hope at all. I had no plan, no volition but to ride and fight and kill, to slay as many of my beloved's murderers as possible before being slain myself. I tell you I did not care to live, I did not care to continue breathing the air of this world if my Ganieda was not also alive to breathe it.

Lord Death! You have taken my heart and soul, you must also take me!

The wind of my passing whistled along the upraised blade in my hand. My mount's iron-shod hooves dug into the soft ground and flung the turf skyward. My cloak flew out behind me like a great wing and I screamed…

Yes, I screamed at the devil's spawn before me, my voice awesome and terrible, rending heaven with its cry:

Earth and Sky bear witness!

I am a man, see how I die!

See how my sword breaks forth, flashing lightning!

See how my shield dazzles like the noontide sun!

See how my arm strikes fierce judgement!

Make ready your graves, Earth!

Open wide your insatiable maw

to swallow the food I give you.

Gather your mists and clouds, Sky!

Weave your sombre vapours

to make a funeral shroud for the dead I bring you.

Hear and obey! I, Myrddin Emrys, command you!

I screamed and my scream was terrible to hear. I laughed, and my laughter was more terrible still.

Alone, I flew to meet the Saecsen host. Alone, I hurtled towards them, bereft of sense and feeling…

Insane.

The tall horsetail standard which the Saecsen carried into battle loomed before me: a cross on a pole bearing a wolfs skull on either end of the crosspiece, with a human skull in the middle, and the three fringed with horsetails of red and black. I drove straight towards the thing with the point of my sword.

I do not know what I thought, or what I intended to do. But the force of my charge was such that upon reaching the battle-line the first enemy I encountered were simply swept beneath my steed's pummelling hooves and I was carried well into their midst as I made for the standard. The standard-bearer, a tall, muscled chieftain, dodged to the side. My blade came level and, with the momentum of my charge behind it, neatly sliced the solid pole in half, as if it had been a dry reed.

The Saecsen battlechief – an enormous brute with pale yellow hair hanging in long braids from his temples – stood beneath the standard with his House Carles around him, staring in amazement as the emblem sank like a stone. The cry of outrage reached my ears as a mild and distant sound, for I had once again entered that uncanny state where the actions of others were as languorous and slow as those of men half-asleep.

The flying, careering warhost became a massive, lumbering thing, heavy-footed and dull, without speed or quickness, overcome by a languid torpor. Once again, as in the battle at Maridunum, I became invincible, dealing death with every well-calculated blow, hewing down mighty warriors with effortless strokes, my movements perfect in their deadly grace.

The clash of battle reached my ears like the sound of water washing a far-off shore. I moved with elegant precision, striking boldly and with vengeance, my sword a living thing – a streaming crimson dragon spitting doom.

The enemy fell before me. I carved a swathe through their close ranks as if I was the scythe and they the corn standing for harvest. I struck and struck, and death fell with every stroke like judgement.

The battle surged around me. Gwendolau's charge had succeeded in driving through the enemy the first time, but the second charge had bogged down. There were simply too many Saecsens against us, and we were too few horsemen. Even when a man killed with every stroke, as my men did, two more barbarians leapt up to drag him from the saddle before his blade was clear of the dead weight.

I did what I could for those closest to me, but my charge had carried me into the centre of the Saecsen warhost, out of reach of most of my warband. All around me I saw good men dragged down and hacked to death by those wicked axes. There was nothing I could do about it.

The battlelord, a fair-haired giant, rose up before me with an enormous hammer in his hand. Slavering with rage, he bellowed his challenge to me and planted his feet, swinging diat hammer, thick-sinewed shoulders and arms bulging with the effort. He stood like an oak tree as I urged my horse towards him. Sunlight glinted in his yellow hair, his blue eyes clear and unafraid, taunting me, the hammer in his hands dripping blood and brains from the skulls he had smashed.

I spun towards him and waited until he swung the hammer up for the killing blow. My first stroke ripped low across his unprotected stomach.

A lesser man would have fallen, but the golden giant stood his ground and swung the hammer down with such force that his wound burst. Blood and entrails gushed forth, and I laughed to see it.

The hammer swung wide; and as his hands came down to grab his belly, I plunged the point of my sword through his throat. Dark blood spewed out over my hand.

He stood a moment, his eyes rolling up in their sockets, then collapsed. I jerked the blade free, laughing, laughing, roaring with the absurdity of it.

I had slain the Saecsen battlechief! He had murdered my wife and unborn child, and I had felled that great brute with a child's trick. It was simply too absurd for words. I wept with laughter until I tasted the tears in my mouth.

When their war chief went down, the barbarians fell into confusion. They had lost their leader, but not their heart. And none of the cold-blooded ruthlessness, either. They still fought with crazy courage. If anything, losing their leader inspired them to higher, more reckless valour. Now they fought for the honour of accompanying then: battlelord into Valhalla, the great Hall of Warriors in their wretched Otherworld.

So be it. I helped as many as possible earn that privilege.

But my sword brothers were not so fortunate. Too many of them were driven down that day. I remember turning as the tide of battle receded from me momentarily, turning and looking out over the field to see only a small handful of my valiant warband still holding their own against the barbarians. So few… and they were all that was left.

I made to ride towards them, but the gap closed again and they were lost. That was the last I ever saw of them alive.

A dreadful earnestness stole over me – a murderous fury. I slashed and struck with all my strength, as if my heart would burst. I killed and killed again. I began to fear that there would not be enough enemy to slake my thirst for blood. I gazed about me and there were more dead now than living, and I despaired.

'Here I am! Here is Merlin, take me!'

Mine was the only voice on the field. The barbarians stared at me with cow-stupid eyes, mute before my righteous rage, the strength going out of their hands.

'Come to me!' I cried. 'You who exult in death, come to me! I will cover you in glory! I will give you the delight of your hearts! Such a splendid death I will give you! Come! Receive the doom you deserve!'

They looked at one another with wide and staring eyes. There must have been seventy or more of them left to face me. Oh, the fighting had been cruel.

But I blazed, Ann was; I blazed with a fierce and righteous fire and the enemy quailed to see it. Their courage flowed away like water.

They stood staring and I raised my blade and called upon heaven to witness their destruction. Then I put spurs to my mount, and that spirited animal responded, though its head drooped and its nostrils streamed blood, it lifted its hooves and bolted straight towards the barbarians.

The sun itself was dim compared to the brightness of my blade as I hacked and hewed through them. Seventy men, and none could lift an axe against me. They fell like toppled oaks, going down into death's dark cavern clutching their wounds and crying.

Blood soaked the soil beneath their feet, staining the turf the colour of wine. They could not stand up for the blood. I chopped with my sword, cleaving their unprotected heads from crown to chin. They dropped dead to the blood-wet earth.

The slaughter was appalling.

In the end, the few who still lived threw down their weapons, turned and fled. But even these did not escape my vengeance. I rode them down from behind, galloping over their stumbling bodies, turning upon them again and again, until not one remained in the world of the living.

Then it was over. I sat in my saddle and gazed out over a hideous carnage. Saecsens lay thick on the ground and I screamed at them:

'Get up! Get up, you dead! Take up your arms! Arise and fight!' I taunted them. I challenged them. I screamed at them and cursed them even in death.

But there was no longer anyone to hear my taunts.

Five hundred Saecsens lay dead upon the ground and it was not enough. My grief, my hate, my rage still burned within me! Ganieda was dead and our child with her, and Gwendolau, Custennin, Baram, Pelleas, Balach, and all the brave men of my warband – all the quick and bright, their hearts beating and breath in their lungs, alive to love and light, now were stiffening corpses. My friends, my wife, my brothers were dead, and the blood price I claimed that day, mighty though it was, could not pay the debt.

Oh, Annwas, Winged Messenger, I myself slaughtered hundreds. Hundreds, do you hear?… hundreds…

And it was not enough!

I looked out on the battlefield shimmering in the heat haze of a midday sun. So still… so still… and silent – save for the croak of the circling birds; for already the carrion crows were flocking, picking at the eyes of the dead. In this I knew the stark reality of war: all men, friend and foe alike, are food for the scavenging beasts.

I saw Lord Death moving among the tumbled corpses, rubbing his fleshless hands and grinning his lipless smile as he gazed upon my wonderful work. He greeted me.

Well done, Myrddin. Such a handsome harvest; I am pleased, my son.

My horror could not be contained. Dark mist rose up before my eyes; the voices of the dead filled my ears with cries of sharp accusation. The bloody earth mocked me; sky and sun jeered. The wind laughed. I fled the field, seeking refuge in Celyddon's deep, black heart. I fled to the nameless hills, to the rock-bound mountains, to this barren outcrop with its cave and spring.

And here, Annwas, here is all Myrddin Wylt's kingdom. Here is where I have dwelt, and ever shall dwell.

Death! You have taken all the others, why have you not taken me?