A World Long Past by Wayne Schreiber - HTML preview

A World Long Past

Wayne Schreiber

A Short story from ‘The Tanarian Chronicles’

Copyright 2013 Wayne Schreiber

All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without written permission from the author.

The Tanarian Chronicles – UK Edition

(Recommended reading age 16+)

Book 1 – Arise A Hero

Book 2 - The Crystal King

Book 3 - Usurper of the Gods

Other short stories

A Forgotten Wound

Other books:

The Legion of Blood (coming Sept 2014)

Visit my website www.ariseahero.com

*****

“Our legends obscure the truth, whilst over time the truth becomes a Legend”

Lady Morgan glided gracefully into the room in the way that a lady of high breeding should.  She halted her advance briefly to adjust the angle of a potted plant that sat near the window; she moved it out of the shadow and into the early rising sun.  The flowers were only ever placed out on display when the wives of the nobles arrived at the fortress.  Even as a visitor, she moved about the halls almost as if she owned the place, but then she should, for she was the Queen of Gore.  Lady Morgan knew how to run a household better than most and was more than talented at playing the games of court or any other that she need to turn her hand too.  The flowers had been placed out for her late last night by the attentive house servants, after her sudden arrival with her husband Urien.  The warrior king from the kingdom of Gore had smirked at the little detail as they had arrived rapidly at the request of her brother.  He had called out for their aid in his hour of need.  Now on this warm Thursday morning the rising sun slowly began to feed the plants leaves with its nourishing rays, like Mother Nature herself.

Myridin had been kept waiting in the reception room next to her bedchamber - the queen's guest quarters were extensive.  He sipped a refreshing apple juice that had been set out for him as he waited, cocking his head to one side to avoid the goatee tufts on his chin from dipping into his drink.

He showed his respect for her by standing up and even gave a slight bow to overdo his display of courtesy at her entrance.  She was captivating to the eye, tall, strawberry-blonde and graceful.  He had wondered to himself as he climbed the stone steps to the guest’s quarters why she had requested this meeting with him at such an early hour?  The queen had a separate room to the king and it would not do well for rumours in the castle should he be seen attending her room so early.

‘It is early.  Does your husband know of our meeting?’ Myridin asked, his tone was edged with concern as he placed his goblet of apple juice down on a nearby table.

‘Don’t be absurd.  Of course not and I can promise you he will not hear of your presence here,’ she scorned.

‘Good, then I think we are well met,’ he had met with Artus’s sister on many formal occasions in the past and had always anticipated her attendance at court, for her striking appearance always brightened the room.  Equally her quick tongue had brightened the cheeks of many a boastful knight, flushing them red with anger or embarrassment with her comments if they challenged the word of her husband the king of Gore.  On the face of it she played the part of the saintly wife well, but Myridin had the eyes of a hawk and had spotted the little cracks in her armour as he had admired her over the years from afar.  The problem that Myridin had observed in her a long time ago was that she was actually what he would term as ‘overly desirable’ and worst of all, she knew it.  She could, and would, capitalise on even the smallest gesture of beguilement from the opposite sex.  The others at court were hardly overwhelmed with her husband’s stature, for all knights at court were kings of their own provinces.  Their regular meetings were comprised of the thirteen kings and the Warlord that sat at the head of their table.  Morgan was not permitted on the men’s table and would sit back on the second ring that surrounded the Lords, ever ready to raise her voice and intervene at any loose comment.  She carried out her role well, never showing any disloyalty to her king when on official business, but obviously enjoying the attentions that the second ring of seats brought with it, being seated in plain view of most of the kings.  The Lords had a large entourage of advisors that would join her at the second table and she soaked up their attention like a wet sponge.  Myridin had noticed her willingness to openly flirt when she liked what she saw and the king of Gore ignored this trait in her too easily.  Myridin had watched many people like a hawk from the sidelines of the back bench and considered that Urien was either overly confident or uncaring of their relationship.  After lady Morgan, Queen of Gore had discovered that he held his own unique set of powers, when he had been called forward to give a prediction to the Court she had managed to feign a little more interest in his conversations.  He had noticed with a smirk that she would sit closer on each meeting until they were eventually side by side where she parked herself as a regular seat.  She would listen to his occasional ravings happily adding her own comments in order to get close to him and gain a better understanding of the powers he commanded.  It had not taken him long to work out that another motive drove her other than an interest in listening to his endless recounts of history and poems.  He was well known in the lands for his powers of insight often called upon to make prophecies to the kings.  She had deliberately drawn counsel from him several times and it was not by chance that he enjoyed her passing company.  He had put off his urges to delve into her mind for as long as he could bear it, considering it bad manners to enter her mind with his magic as their familiarity grew, yet in the end he eventually attempted this.  It was simply what he did.  It had been after a night of feasting; on a grand and memorable occasion when his temptations were finally met.  His latest prediction had been correct and a victory had followed at the river Glein.  The alliance of kings had met the advances of the Saxon invader for the first time, forcing them back to run away and lick their wounds.  The kingdoms of the north had united and faced the enemy for the first time as one united force, rather than the fragmented War-bands that they had faced before.  Any attempt against their kingdom would now be seen as an attack on all and the creeping advances of the invader would at last be met with equal force.  The great celebration had been for Artur, Morgan’s brother who had been appointed with a new position, one that held great honour after that battle.  He had been sent to represent the kingdoms of his father who preferred to wallow in the glory of his son’s victories back in the safety of his hall.  After a reckless display of courage from Artur as he battled to hold their line across the river bank he had been awarded with a new title of honour.  Artur had spotted the weakness in their defences before any man and thrown himself into the gap.  He had managed to rally the men of the mixed force that were beginning to falter as they questioned their own courage to stand toe to toe with the Saxon.  Artur had fought like a madman, forcing the enemy to retreat back across the shallow crossing rather than meet with his blade; this act of courage alone had recovered the army from the brink of defeat.  The rivers had run red that day with the blood of their victory.  After the battle Urien’s had put Artur forward to the other twelve kings with a proposal.  Several of the leaders had noticed Artur had a natural talent for war, it was as if he had instinctively known where to be at the right time and the command of men had come naturally to him.  Urien followed the old ways like his father before him, the way of the Roman.  He had proposed him as their “Dux Bellorum,” or Battle Master, to those who had forgotten the old Roman words.  It was evident that they needed a single leader to unify the fragmented men of the vastly different armies of their alliance, someone whose mind was not clouded by the troubles of running a kingdom.  The unique position of War Lord would ensure that he only commanded the men in battle, on leaving the field all kings would retain their normal authority.  Artur had inspired the men that he had fought with regardless of which king’s standard or mark that they held on their shields.  Myridin had arrived late after the battle with the rearguard and had quickly seconded the motion, for Artur had shown a level head and good taste in friends – namely him.   Myridin also realised that with his increasing influence came raised levels of jealousy and animosity from the others on the outer table who jostled for the various kings’ ears or an opportunity to move up a table.  On their return from battle they were all soon drunk in the halls of Camelot with celebration.  Myridin had sat with Morgan and laughed at her story as she retold it, she even pursed her lips to recount the way her stories character had moved to kiss the hog by mistake.  The punch line was yet to be delivered, but the tears of laughter poured from his eyes – he had already guessed the hog was named the same as his wife but her story had been told well.  After spotting her heightened emotions with the story telling he had attempted to probe her mind to see if she harboured the same growing feelings that he had started to nurture for her.  For it would be a dangerous game to play seducing the queen of Gore; if his suspicions of her neglect were correct and her husband was paying her no heed a brave move may deliver a great reward into his lap.  He would need to consider the consequences of discovery for some time before committing to his move, so better to see if he stood a reasonable chance first.  Was she worth dying for?  Every man who had laid eyes upon her had considered the same thoughts, for she was a rose planted in this otherwise barren land.  Back then he had needed to better understand the nature of the woman that he now stood facing..... back then things had been different, more different than he could ever remember.  He had reached out into her mind, yet with disbelief he had failed to penetrate a dark veil that rejected his probing interests.  This had at first shocked him to his core, for although she had never displayed the slightest understanding of magic, she must have known a considerable amount to protect herself from his prying eyes.  Only those skilled in the art could resist the powers of his mind and often not even then.  This had worried him for he had never even noticed this about her until now.  He had recoiled from his attempt, yet she had appeared none the wiser from his efforts.  She looked at him noticing that his incessant laughter had suddenly stopped.  He quickly hid his surprise and distracted her attention,

‘That’s a nice necklace that you wear Morgan, how unusual - what is it?  A large tooth or claw perhaps?  She blushed at first as she felt his eyes staring at her chest.  Seconds later she capitalised on the weaknesses of the man and threw back her shoulders most innocently revealing more.

‘I’m not really sure, you know I can’t even remember where I got it from, would you like a closer look?’  Morgan shuffled closer squeezing her cleavage together as her arms came forwards to cup the necklace.  Myridin interpreted her reaction as intentional.

‘Most interesting, I like what I see … I would love to get my hands on one like that. Should you come by another or preferably a set; please let me know for I would pay a high price… for such a necklace.’  His innuendo was intentional, with her being masked from his magic he would need to test the water the old fashioned way, with hook and bait.  He had never been one for the subtleties or patience of fishing, he preferred to just smack a fish with a large stick then pluck it from the lake.  She had given him a long sideways smile and then walked off to mingle; she deliberately fanned herself from the heat of the room as she departed.

He had not sat idle on the fact that he had failed to read her mind nor had he ignored the fact that she appeared not to have realised.  Morgan had however asked about his magic several times and also asked for several demonstrations, which he had of course refused.  Magic was not there to be used on a whim or abused; it was far too scarce to waste.  He had noted that it had been after his refusal that she had began to return his minor flirtations.  Myridin had used his time and magic wisely, he needed to understand more of Artur’s sister and why his magic had failed to read her mind.  With each passing night his urge to see her grew until he could bear it no longer.  Eventually he possessed one of the numerous ravens that stalked about the rafters of Urien’s stronghold, controlling the bird using its eyes and ears as his spy.  It had taken less than a week of his surveillance to discover the nature of the woman he now stalked.  With news of fresh raids from the Saxon and Angles that bordered Urien’s lands the King of Gore rode out with the better part of his army through his kingdom to the south east to deal with the threat.  King Urien had rapidly departed his stronghold to send the invader a clear message; even tolerating these smaller raids would demonstrate a sign of weakness.  He was no weakling to be abused and would prove it.  He had sworn an oath, the same oath that Artur, his brothers and the twelve other kings had sworn on that fateful day of their alliance.  Morgan’s husband was a dedicated man, bound by his duty and Christian faith.  He had not hesitated to rush off to defend his people and lands with this news.  It was a shame that his dedication did not extend to tending to the needs of his wife for that very same night she was warming their bed with her lover.  Myridin had watched on through the raven’s eyes, he could not help but watch the exquisite beauty undress before him, a scene which he had imagined several times, but until this moment never enjoyed.  Accolon her lover was a foreigner, dark haired and handsome he had arrived from Gaul a rich and important man.  He was known to be sharp of wit and mind and had quickly secured trading rights with the king shortly after his arrival.  He was a young and athletic man, enjoying all physical pursuits; a very different man from his father who had handed on the family business before passing away.  Accolon had confessed on several occasions to any who would listen that he would rather be a soldier, than live the life of a merchant – instead having to battle every single day over the prices of wheat and grain.  He had made himself quite at home in the King's household and had entertained more than just the queen with his exaggerated stories.  Even the men in the court had taken to enjoying his recounted adventures; he seemed to have a way about him that entertained and a story on hand for every occasion.  Accolon had remained in Gore to over watch his trade agreements and now instead of business his hands tenderly eased out the queen’s breasts from her dress.  Myridin watched on as the couple eagerly stripped each other for their encounter.  They did not paw wildly at each other like new lovers, oh no - they did so with a familiarity that told him this was not the first time the young man had tasted this pie.  The bird’s eyesight far exceeded his own and he viewed every little detail and bead of sweat with a mixture of horror and interest.  She slid on top of him and writhed wildly with the pleasures that he eagerly gave.  He had somehow maintained his control of the bird through his waves of mounting anger, he felt the spirit of the bird fight to take control and just fly away as his focus waned.  He regained control, forcing himself to watch on instead of leaving them to enjoy their sordid little encounter.  He later discovered to his horror that the birds hearing was also as exceptional as its sight.  After the repetitive sounds of their rutting they finally collapsed down on top of each other, they lay relaxed in the king’s bed discussing their treasonous whispers.

‘Did you enjoy fucking me Accolon?’ she asked with a polite but teasing tone.

‘Of course I did, couldn’t you tell?  You know I only stay in this freezing piss-pot of the north in the vain hope of warming my body against yours each night.’  His hand lovingly caressed her inner thigh as he talked.

‘You make a fine body-warmer in this freezing land.’

‘Good,’ she rewarded his attentiveness with a kiss, but pulled away from him as she felt his passion grow.  She needed to make sure he was prepared to do the things she required of him before he was rewarded again.  It was like giving treats to a hungry dog.  The problem with the Gaul she knew all too well was that once his passions had been aroused he only had a one track mind.  Ordinarily when left alone by her husband this trait suited her just fine, however they had little opportunity to talk lately and there was much to discuss.  With the King returning frequently from his campaigns she needed a more permanent arrangement between them.  Accolon was not giving up so easily from his warm position and his hand slipped upwards between her thighs to a place where his distraction would be the most effective.  His hands were so very smooth and gentle, unlike the king's and she lost track of her original intentions for a moment enjoying the sensations that rippled through her body.  She pursed her lips and groaned with pleasure, enjoying his caresses for just a moment longer.  For a second she wanted nothing other than to just surrender herself to his will.

‘Oh Accolon my love, where would we be if I left you to your own devices,’ She sighed upset with herself for what she needed to do and grasped his wandering hands firmly, halting their work.  She decided to come straight out with the things that had been playing over and over in her mind for the past few weeks.

‘Urien must die if I am to be yours, you understand this don’t you?  You realise that if he ever found out about us he would kill us both.  I can’t stand all this sneaking about, we are bound to slip up or be spotted sooner or later, so it is better to strike first I say.’ She had tried to rationalise her decisions many times in her mind and desperately sought the support from him that she craved.  She went to kiss him but suddenly thought better of it, with her ideas revealed, she needed his agreement tonight.  She had hinted at this intention several times before – but then with a slightly more light hearted notion.  Saying words such as,

‘Oh, I could kill that man sometimes,’ she had eased the words out jokingly at first, but had studied his reaction.  She had been paving the way for the delivery of the main event; for treason and murder were no idle topics of discussion.  The king’s court had many ears to overhear such whispers, just as many that might hear their passion.  Accolon had never batted an eyelid against such idle suggestions from her.  After enduring the King constantly over the passed week she had been remind of how trapped she had felt in his presence.  She was like a caged dove and since her very first encounter with Accolon she had been bewitched by his touch. With Accolon came options, doors could now be opened that were once shut to her.  She had not had any choice in the choosing of her husband,

‘Alliances are made with either the cunt or the sword,’ her father the king had said when he delivered the news of her marriage.

‘I dare not face Urien with the sword; he is far too wily for that, so I must use the other.’  The truth was instead clear to her and her father had been almost correct – the world was dominated by cunts with swords – the type of men that forced their young daughters into marriages for their own gain.

She looked up into Accolon’s eyes besieging him for a positive response.  She desperately needed to hear the returning words from his mouth.

How had things become so bad between her and Urien over the years?  She pondered this as she waited for his reply.  She had borne the king their sons and yet now she could not even watch the man eat without being filled with anger and disgust.  She consoled herself that she had no choice with their arranged marriage; their bond had further secured the alliance of the nations.  This involuntary act brought nothing but a wave of resentment from her against her husband and her father.  Aeden had given her away like bait to a hawk at the first opportunity; he had been an uncompromising man and a harsh king.  He had even sent his sons as infants into the camps of his enemy as hostages to secure his borders.  She had only been thirteen when they had been wed and had been forced by duty to endure Urien’s mundane toil upon her for years; his love making was as rapid and forceful as his raiding army.  She had endured him for too long and his last son had nearly killed her at child birth – all this whilst her father made his amends with god, content with life in his halls and praised himself for his holiness’.  Accolon still pondered her words in silence.

‘Just say that you will deal with him, I don’t care how, be it blade, arrow or poison I care not which.  Please say that you will do this and I will be forever yours.’

Even from this great distance Myridin could detect the traces of magic flooding out from her, she was totally exposed with her nakedness with her dress and necklace neatly placed to her side.  Was she blessed with the art he wondered, was she one of his own kind?  He wondered at how he could have missed this before?

She rolled on top of Accolon, dominating his thoughts; her eyes implored him for the answer she sought as she pleaded with him.  He eventually nodded back his agreement,

‘Yes my love, I will do it – just you leave Urien to me.  However, I will not send a king to the afterlife with poison; no – I’m sorry my love, I’m afraid that I’m not as cowardly as that.  From all of the things you have told me about and from treating you so badly I must teach him a lesson.  A king of the sword, must die by the sword.’  He stated.

‘No, my love that is his way – he will kill you,’ she had to make him see sense; this was not what she had planned.

‘Don’t worry, I believe I have a better idea altogether than just crossing swords with him, one that will satisfy all of our needs.  I am not crazy – I still want to be here to hold you tight after he is gone.  The sword my love, the power lies in your brother’s sword.  They say whoever wields it cannot be beaten – I would normally pay no heed to such idle chatter.  But whilst in your husband’s court I did witness the gathering of kings and an act that convinced me of its power.  In my presence King Ryderrch did withdraw your brother’s blade by its ivory handle, declaring its power to a Saxon prisoner that had been brought forwards and flung before him in chains.  I saw it with my own eyes Morgan, the blade did spout bright fire like a dragon’s breath; I had to avert my eyes to avoid blindness.  They then set the Saxon free to return to his people in order to tell them about what they faced, cutting his chains with a single blow from the sword.  It was that Druids idea I think – why they endure that damned pagan’s advice I’ll never know?  We shall put that magic to the test, for in my dealings across this land I have seen and befriended several Smiths with incredible skill in metalwork, I have several others already placed close to your brother, close enough to take note of the sword's design and get me close enough to make a switch of blades when required.  If I were to swap blades with your brother, I am sure I could beat Urien.’  Morgan considered his words for a moment,

‘A noble idea, defeating my husband with a blade – it would be no easy feat, I have felt his body above me.  He is as hard as iron, but in all of the wrong places.  I must point out to you though, there is a flaw to your plan, you may forge an identical sword – yet it will contain no magic …if the blade is as powerful as you suggest and spouts fire when drawn, then how will you bring the power of fire to your duplicated blade?  I know my brother rarely wears the sword but if it is handled the lack of fire would be a dead give away don’t you think?’  He began to laugh.

‘You're good, but I believe I have this covered.  King Ryderrch himself, made the mistake of telling all in the court that the fire will only come to the blade when a man of Noble and right birth takes the blade.  I can vouch for its magic for when he handed the sword back to Artur’s squire by its hilt the flames were immediately extinguished.  I am of Noble birth, not from this country – yet noble all the same.’  Myridin chuckled to himself insanely as he watched on, delirious with the discovery of the lovers and their intent, yet amused at their belief in the simple enchantments of illusion he had placed upon the blade.  The fire was not real, just a nice touch to inspire the weak minded. Accolon continued,

‘And with the size of the weapon, it cannot be worn at Court – it takes a man to carry it.  It only comes out to take heads in battle, most of the year it sits in the armoury gathering dust or being polished by his squire – I would be surprised if its absence was even noticed, yet we will take no chances.’  He went to molest her further; all of this talk about magic swords had riled his blood.  Her firm grip halted the advance of his fingers yet the moistness on his fingertips betrayed her excitement.

‘Are you sure of this, did you see this with your own eyes?’ she enquired knowing that he had a talent for over embellishing stories.

‘Yes Morgan, I was there and saw it with my own eyes as the king spoke to the Saxon prisoner, he was a chieftain of his clan, I can even remember his name clear as day “Dyrnwyn,” that was it, yes - that was his name.  He said Dyrnwyn, today we will spare your life.  Go back to your people and tell them of the fate that waits them – for today will be the last that a Saxon walks from my court alive. Tell your people to repent their sins and bow to the one true god, then we may talk peace or forever leave our shores.’  Accolon had almost sounded excited as he recalled his day in court.

Morgan lay still soaking up his words, before responding,

‘Even if you can switch the sword, how do you intend to finish him alone?  He travels everywhere with his bodyguard, they will cut you down before you have fair chance,’ she asked.

‘Your husband often brags to me of how he slips his bodyguard and hunts alone.  If planned correctly I believe that I can switch the blades ensuring my victory and slay him on his own.  I will do this for us, I just have to.’

‘Perfect.’ It was certainly risky in many ways, but she was prepared to take risks as much as he was.  Even better he showed both bravery and initiative, his plan also clearly showed that he had been plotting his intended move for some time, this certainly was no last minute plot that he had conjured up on the spot to please her.

‘It doesn’t sound like you have put much thought into it,’ she taunted him mockingly, then giggled excitedly with her troubles relieved.

‘I think that you will also need to beware of the Druid, Myridin has eyes in the back of his head and watches the events of court like a hawk, she suggested.

‘I thought you said his eyes were now fixed on you?  Make sure they are; but just his eyes mind,’ he stressed.

‘Don’t you worry, I see nothing in that goat-bearded little hermit, I have him wrapped around my little finger, right where I want him.  Now where were we?’

She released his hands giving them free range to wander once again.

‘You may proceed,’ she instructed, more like an order than a request when he did not instantly continue where he had left off.

The raven flew rapidly away, out through the small gap in the rafters as her groans of pleasure followed it into the night.  The slight clatter of its wings only disturbed the embrace of the two lovers below for but a fleeting second before they were lost in one the depths of each other.

Myridin had acted swiftly like the hawk that his friends had nicknamed him after.  The Merlin threatened to strike with its talons extended.  He was outraged at the actions of the couple and had at first sought their blood under the guise of the threat that they presented to the alliance.  In his mind he quickly realised that his true loathing was at Morgan’s unavailability to his tentative advances and the words she had said against him.  His mind twisted in thought, she was now far beyond the possibility of his reach and with two men already locked in contest for her; there was little chance of what he sought from her.  He considered his anguish; how far would she really go if pushed to distract him of their plans?  Perhaps he could hold the threat of revealing their plot against her to scratch his itch; she could be forced to give herself to him then.  He considered every angle, for after seeing her naked he wanted her all the more.  His desires were driving him mad, blinding him from common sense.  He began to slip into the pit of despair as he realised she would never be his.  She was driving his mind into a place which he had visited a long time before – last time he had remained insane for over a year.  He felt as if dark talons were clawing upwards at his soul seeking to drag him down to a place where he did not wish to return.  He reached out in desperation with his mind to the one he had secretly confided in; for once he had the sense to know when he needed help.  He had found her several years ago as he had searched for the dissipating traces of magic; since the destruction of the order of Druids the energy that he needed was becoming scarcer to find.  With his spirit eyes he had investigated an area that drew his attention; searching with his projected spirit he had at last found another of his kind.  There were once several more like him, men and women who extended their life and abilities through their magic.  Each had a different theory on how they had came about to hold such vast power.  One claimed they were all descendants of Wotan and Frea, another even claimed they were spawned from the devil?  But in reality, none truly knew their origin and Myridin had long since given up caring about such things.  It had not been long after the occupation that they were branded as a blemish of society.  This land had changed rapidly for them and several others like Myridin had gone into hiding.  After the Romans had came and hu