Stones Of Power - The Last Sword Of Power Part 16

'Your modesty is commendable, but you are far more than that. I would like you to serve me, Victorinus. Talented men are hard to find.'

Victorinus bowed. 'I thank you for the compliment. And now, with your leave, we must prepare for the journey home.'

'Of course,' said Wotan, rising. 'But first introduce your young companion; he intrigues me.'

'My Lord, this is Galead, a Knight of Uther.' Galead bowed and the King stepped down from the dais to stand before him. Galead swallowed hard and looked up into the ice-blue eyes. 'And what is your view, Knight of Uther?' 'I have no view, sire, only a sword. And when my King tells me to use it, I do so.' 'And if I was your King?' 'Ask me again, sire, when that day dawns.'

'It will dawn, Galead. Come the Spring, it will dawn. Tell me,' he said, smiling and raising his arms to point at the severed heads, 'what do you think of my ornaments?'

'I think they will attract flies, sire, when the Spring comes.'

'You recognised one of them, I think?'

Galead blinked. 'Indeed I did, sire, and your powers of observation are acute.' He pointed to the rotting head of Meroveus. 'I saw him once - when my father was visiting Gaul. It is the . . . former . . . King.'

'He could have served me. I find it strange that a man will prefer to depart this life in agony, rather than enjoy it in riches and pleasure. And for what? All men serve others . . .

even kings. Tell me, Galead, what point is there in defying the inevitable?'

'I was always told, sire, that the only inevitability is death, and we do our best to defy that daily.'

'Even death is not inevitable for those who serve me well - nor is it a release for those who oppose me. Is that not true, Meroveus?'

The rotting head seemed to sag upon the lance, the mouth opening in a silent scream. 'You see,' said Wotan softly, 'the former King agrees. Tell me, Galead, do you desire me for an enemy?'

'Life, my lord, for a soldier, is rarely concerned with what he desires. As you so rightly say, all men are subject to the will of someone. For myself I would prefer no enemies, but life is not that simple.'

'Well said, soldier,' replied the King, turning and striding back to the throne.

The two men backed down the hall, then turned and walked in silence to their lodgings.

Once there Victorinus slumped in a broad chair, head in hands.

'It may not be true,' said Galead.

'He did not lie; there would be no point. Uther is dead. Britain is dead.'

'You think Wotan will be King?'

'How do we stop him? Better that he is elected and the blood-letting minimised.'

'And you will suggest that course?'

'Do you have a better?'

As the younger man was about to answer he saw Victorious' hand flicker, the fingers spreading and then closing swiftly into a fist. It was the scout's signal for silence in the presence of the enemy.

'No, sir, I think you are right,' he said.

Now, in the bright new morning, Galead rose and walked naked to the stream behind the lodgings. There he bathed in the cool waters that ran from the snow-covered mountains down into the valleys. Refreshed, he returned to his room and dressed for the journey ahead. There were twelve men in the party, and they met to break their fast in the dining room of the inn. Victorinus, clothed once more as a warrior commander in bronze breastplate and bronze-studded leather kilt, sat in silence. The news of Uther's death had filtered to all the warriors, darkening their mood.

A young stable-boy entered and informed Victorinus that the horses were ready, and the group made their way to their mounts, riding from the city as the sun finally cleared the mountains. Victorinus waved Galead forward and the blond young warrior cantered his mount alongside the veteran.

The two men rode ahead of the following group, out of earshot, then Victorinus reined in and turned towards the young Merovingian.

'I want you to head for Belgica and take s.h.i.+p from there.'

'Why, sir?'

Victorinus sighed. 'Use your wits, young prince. Wotan may have been fooled by my words and the air of defeat I summoned. But he may not. Were I him, I would see that Victorinus did not reach the coast alive.'

'All the more reason to stick together,' said Galead.

'You think one sword can make the difference?' snapped the old general.

'No,' Galead admitted.

'I am sorry, my boy. I get irritated when people try to kill me. When you get back to Britain, find Prasamaccus - he's a wily old bird - and Gwalchmai. Both of them will offer sage counsel. I do not know who will have taken charge - perhaps Petronius, though he is ten years older than I. Or maybe Geminus Cato. I hope it is the latter; he at least understands war, and its nature. From the looks of the barges they will be ready to sail by the Spring, and that gives little time for adequate preparation. My guess is they will land near Anderita, but they may strike further north. Wotan will have allies at either end of the kingdom. d.a.m.n Uther to h.e.l.l! How could he die at a time like this?'

'And what will you do, sir?'

'I'll continue as expected - but I will leave the road come nightfall. Sweet Mithras, what I would not give for ten of the old legions! Did you see those Roman soldiers at Wotan's court?'

'Yes. Not impressive, were they?'

'No helmets or breastplates. I spoke to one of the young men and it seems the army voted to do away with them because they were so heavy! How did Rome ever rule the world?'

'A country is only as strong as its leaders allow it to be,' said Galead. 'The Goths could never have conquered without Wotan to bind them, and when he dies they will be sundered once more.'

'Then let us hope he dies soon,' said Victorinus. 'Once we are out of sight of the city, strike north -and may Hermes lend wings to your horse.'

'And may your G.o.ds bring you home, sir.'

Victorinus said nothing, but he removed his cloak and folded in across his saddle, a ritual all cavalry officers followed when riding into hostile territory.

'If I am not home by the Spring, Galead, light a lantern for me at the Altar of Mithras.'

Culain stood at the centre of the Stone Circle, his silver lance in his hand.

'Are you sure this is wise, my friend?' asked Pendarric.

Culain smiled. 'I was never wise, Lord King. A wise man understands the limits of his wisdom. But I believe it is my destiny to stand against the evil of Wotan. My swords may not be enough to sway the battle, but then again they may. Unless I try, I will never know.'

'I too will go against the dark one,' said Pendarric, 'but in my own way. Take this - I think you will have need of it.' Culain reached out and accepted a golden Stone the size of a sparrow's egg.

'I thank you, Pendarric. I do not think we will meet again.'

'In that you are correct, Lance Lord. May the Source of All Things be with you always.'

Pendarric raised his arms and spoke the Word of Power .

CHAPTER NINE.

The city of Eborac.u.m was in mourning when Revelation arrived at the south gate. The sentry, seeing the white-bearded stranger was a monk carrying no weapons, merely a long wooden quarterstaff, stepped aside and waved him through.

'Is the King in residence?' asked Revelation.

'You have not heard?' said the sentry, a young militia-man bearing only a lance.

'I have been on the road for three days. I have seen no one.'

'The King is dead,' said the sentry. 'Slain by sorcery.'

Other travellers waited behind Revelation and the guard waved him on. JHe moved under the gate tower and on into the narrow streets, his mind whirling with memories: the young Uther, tall and strong in the Caledones, the Blood King leading the charge against the enemy, the boy and the man so full of life. Revelation felt a terrible sadness swelling within him. He had come here to make his peace with the man he betrayed, to seek forgiveness.

He moved through the town like a dreamer, not seeing the shops and stores and market stalls, heading for the Royal Keep where two sentries stood guard, both in ceremonial black coats and dark-plumed helms.

Their lances crossed before him, barring the way.

'None may enter today,' said a guard softly. 'Come back tomorrow.'

'I need to speak to Victorious,' said Revelation.

'He is not here. Come back tomorrow.'

'Then Gwalchmai or Prasamaccus.'

'Are you hard of hearing, old man? Tomorrow, I said.'

Revelation's staff swept up, brus.h.i.+ng the lances aside. The men jumped forward to overpower him, but the staff cracked against the first man's skull, bowling him from his feet, then it hammered into the second man's groin, doubling him over, where a second blow took him at the base of the neck.

Revelation walked on into the courtyard. Groups of men were sitting idly by, their faces set and their misery apparent.

'You!' said Revelation, pointing at a warrior sitting on a well wall. 'Where is Gwalchmai?'

The man looked up and gestured to the north tower. Revelation mounted the steps and made his way up the circular stairwell to the King's apartments. There, on a bed covered with white linen, lay the body of Uther dressed in full armour and plumed helm. Beside the bed, holding the King's hand, was Gwalchmai, the Hound of the King. Tears stained his cheeks and his eyes were red-rimmed.

He did not hear Revelation approach, nor did he react when the man's hand touched his shoulder, but at the sound of the voice he jerked as if stung and leapt to his feet.

'How did it happen, Gwal?'

'You!' Gwalchmai's hand flew to his side, but there was no sword. The eyes blazed. 'How dare you come here?'

Revelation ignored him and moved to the bed. 'I asked how it happened,' he whispered.

'What difference does it make? It happened. A sorcerous mist filled the castle and all fell into a deep sleep. When we awoke, the King was lying dead in the courtyard beside the body of a scaled beast. And the Sword was gone.'

'How long ago?'

'Three days.'

Revelation lifted the King's hand. 'Then why no sign of stiffening?' He slid his fingers to the King's wrist and waited. There was no pulse, yet the flesh was warm to the touch.

From the pocket of his robe he produced Pendarr-ic's Stone which he touched to the King's brow. There was no discernible movement, but the pulse point under his fingers trembled.

'He is alive,' said Revelation.

'No!'

'See for yourself, man.' Gwalchmai moved to the other side of the bed and pressed his fingers to the King's throat, just under the jaw-line. His eyes brightened, but the gleam died.

'Is this more sorcery, Culain?'

'No, I promise you.'

'Of what worth are the promises of an Oath breaker?'

'Then you must judge, Gwalchmai. There is no stiffness in the body, the blood has not fallen back from the face and the eyes are not sunken. How do you read his condition?'

'But there is no breath, there is no heartbeat,' said the Cantii tribesman.

'He is at the point of death, but he has not yet pa.s.sed the Dark River.'

Revelation put both hands to the King's face.

'What are you doing?' asked Gwalchmai.

'Be silent,' ordered Revelation, closing his eyes.

His mind drifted, linking with Uther, drawing on the power of the Stone he carried.

Darkness, despair and a tunnel of black stone . . . A beast . . . Many beasts ... a figure, tall and strong . . .

Revelation screamed and was hurled back across the room - the front of his habit ripped, blood welling from the talon tears on his chest. Gwalchmai stood transfixed as Revelation slowly rose to his feet.

'Sweet Mithras,' whispered Gwalchmai. Revelation took the Stone and held it to his chest and the wounds sealed instantly.

'They have Uther's soul,' he said.

'Who?'

'The enemy, Gwalchmai: Wotan.'