21. A Parting Gift
"They cannot be more than a few hours ride from here Sire," said Gorlois grimly from where he squatted before an abandoned fire, his hands testing the heat emanating from the spent logs.
Uther jumped down from his horse and strode quickly over to his side, scanning the horizon critically as he went, "Then we must water the horses quickly and be on our way," he replied, impatiently gesturing for the remainder of the riding party to dismount and tend to their animals.
The small band of men had ridden for three long days, weaving their way throughout the district of Camelot on the trail left behind by Abraith and his entourage of Druid followers. It had taken the combined skill of their best trackers to locate the path the sorcerer had taken but eventually they had snaked their way through the forests of the upper provinces and now they were finally closing in. The proximity of their quarry stirred the men from their exhaustion and spurred them on to activity. Before long they were on their way again, striking out from the camp and on into the wilds of the forest undergrowth.
The sun peered out timorously from behind a thin layer of cloud, casting eerie shadows across the ground while a bitter wind whipped its way through the trees. As the men rode deeper into the forest an unnatural darkness fell around them and one by one their horses slowed to a tentative trot. Eight pairs of eyes flittered from one sudden movement in the shadows to another, paranoia seeing enemy forces everywhere.
Uther raised his right arm, his hand clenched into a fist to signal his men to halt. The path before him lay dark and uninviting and his horse whinnied loudly, throwing back its head in fright. Dismounting quickly, Uther moved cautiously along the path, the hairs on his neck rising with each step as he strained his ears against the oppressive gloom. Gradually, Uther began to make out a low rumble echoing amongst the trees and crouching low on the ground he watched as the stones and loose dirt began to jump and move with the reverberations. The noise grew louder and louder until a great quaking rocked the Earth, the sounds of roots ripping from the ground blasting all around them as whole trees were felled.
Bors and Gorlois were thrown from their horses, both petrified animals bolting away in terror leaving the riders on their backs in the dirt. Uther's own horse reared up onto it's hindquarters in frights before following the path of the first two horses out of the clearing. Those that managed to keep their mounts struggled to control the poor creatures and the whole party was thrown into confusion.
From the midst of this chaos a cloaked figure appeared silently from the shadows and stretched out both his hands before him. Immediately the ground became still and an eerie quite fell on the small band of men, the remaining horse's baleful snickering being the only sound to break the silence.
"Abraith," spat Uther venomously, his eyes boring intently into the man in front of him, "your theatrics do not intimidate me."
"You always were a naïve young fool Uther," smiled the sorcerer indulgently, flicking his hand deftly at the group of Knights that were attempting to rally around their King, sending each and every one stumbling to the ground.
"Enough of your sorcery wizard, pick up your sword and fight me like a man!" commanded the King heatedly, levelling his own sword at the chest of his erstwhile advisor.
Abraith let out a loud and hearty bark of laughter, smiling patronisingly at him, "Uther, Uther, Uther… you cannot fight something that has always been stronger than you," he mocked, gesturing arrogantly at himself.
"I will fight you by any means necessary," fumed the King in return, "and my Brother's life shall be avenged!"
"Ah yes…poor dear Aurelius," rejoined the Druid with mock sadness, shaking his head in exaggerated regret, "cut down so cruelly in his prime…"
Boiling with rage, Uther lunged at Abraith, slashing his sword through the air fiercely. Without so much as batting an eyelid, the sorcerer's eyes burned a fleeting shade of gold and the King was picked up easily into the air and thrown back against the broad trunk of a tree, his body landing in a broken pile at its base. To Uther, it felt as if he had been struck by a rampaging bull and as he hit the tree he felt the dull snap of a rib give way inside him.
"You really should be careful where you point that thing my Lord," counselled Abraith lightly as he stood over Uther's prone form, "You could do yourself some serious harm."
Taking a deep, ragged breath, Uther held his arm protectively over his broken rib, desperately trying to push down the pain and regain his composure as he writhed pitifully in the dirt. With every ounce of his determination he pulled himself into a sitting position and fixed Abraith with a long, cold look of pure hatred.
"How did you do it?" he wheezed at last, wincing as he tested the severity of his wounds.
"Do what my Lord?" asked the sorcerer quizzically, his eyebrows raised in a parody of innocence.
"Do not trifle with me Abraith!" shouted Uther impatiently.
"On the contrary, I'm afraid you must be more specific – you see I have been a very busy fellow of late, do you mean; how did I do away with the late King… or how have I undermined your authority to the point of near national collapse?" he replied, a smug smile playing on his lips.
"How did you kill my brother?" hissed Uther fiercely through clenched teeth.
"It was surprisingly easier than I anticipated," he began, as if regaling them with some fire-side story, "All it took was a simple mixture of the Solanum plant mixed with hemlock, heavily diluted of course, and dispensed slowly over the course of many months until-"
"Enough," cried the King angrily, dragging himself to his feet as he spoke, "I simply want to know how this was possible when Gaius was monitoring the administration of all my brother's food and drink?"
"Uther, you insult me!" exclaimed Abraith indignantly, "Open you're mind to the power of magic and you will see there are any number of ways that this could be accomplished…"
As he spoke, he raised his right hand and on command a small vial rose from inside his cloak. The vial hovered for a second before gliding effortlessly through the air, coming to a stop a few inches from Caradoc's face where he sat pinned to the ground. Abraith then raised his left hand into the air and closed his fingers slowly, miming the act of choking a man.
Suddenly, Caradoc's eyes bulged out from his head and he made a strange gurgling sound, his hands flying to his neck in fear. As he fought for breath his mouth gaped open wildly and the vial began to tip above his head.
"Stop!" shouted Uther in panic, holding both his hands up, palms out as if to ward off Abraith's magic, "There is no need for this!"
Instantly, Abraith dropped both his hands and in perfect synchrony, the small vial also dropped harmlessly to the floor and his hold on the poor Knight was released. Caradoc sagged thankfully back, water streaming from his eyes as he gulped down huge lungfulls of air, his broad shoulder shaking visibly with the effort of regaining his composure.
"A simple demonstration my Lord," replied Abraith with an evil grin.
"I'm sure Alwyn is most proud," said Uther sarcastically, "as he watches your actions from Avalon."
"Alwyn was a fool who gave his life for a pathetic man," snapped the sorcerer in anger, "He should have joined with Mabon - not destroyed such a powerful Druid as he."
Uther watched the fire burn in Abraith's eyes, "Has it always been this way," he asked at last, his voice bearing a hint of disbelief, "even back then?"
"I have watched the rise and fall of countless petty men like you Uther," shot back Abraith, "Not one was worthy to wear a crown nor powerful enough to match even a child of the Druids."
"Then why did you run?" demanded the King his eyes hard as steel, "If you are so powerful, why did you not kill me long ago - why do you not kill me now where I stand?"
The sorcerer's lips pulled back into a derisive sneer, "You must know it is not as simple as that," he remonstrated, shaking his head in despair at Uther's apparent stupidity, "The people of this land may be ignorant vermin, but they must support my rule or a Kingship is for nothing, Vortigern is a testament to that. These peasants you call subjects crave tradition and order… I cannot simply seize the crown."
"How fortunate for me," mumbled the King in disdain.
"I am a patient man Uther," he continued, "The rebellions will continue until you are overwhelmed and I will step triumphantly into your shoes."
"Then you had better be quick," Uther rejoined, a glint of smug pride in his eye, "For before long there will be a brood of Pendragons standing in your way, old man."
A dark look of satisfaction settled over Abraith's features as he smiled wolfishly at the King, "I beg to differ, my liege," he replied, articulating each word with relish.
A bitter chill washed over Uther as the threat of Abraith's words punched hard into his gut and his jaw slackened unconsciously in fear, "What do you… no…you cannot… you would not…!" he stuttered, pointing at him accusingly.
"Hurry home Uther, for I have left a parting gift for your wife - we shall talk more anon I am sure," said Abraith lightly, turning quickly from them before disappearing into the shadows as suddenly as he had arrived.
Uther stood motionless in the clearing, his eyes wide with shock, all colour completely drained from his face as he stared into the darkness after the sorcerer.
"Sire," said Gorlois in a low tone, able to feel his feet for the first time since Abraith's appearance and moving immediately to place a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder.
Uther said nothing, simply turned and ran toward Hectimere who had somehow kept hold of his horse throughout the encounter. Shoving passed the young Knight; Uther vaulted quickly into the saddle and drove his heels urgently into the horse's flanks, spurring it hurriedly into a fast gallop.
Leaving the Knights behind to secure the rest of the horses, the King made a bee-line for Camelot, no longer tied to the need to follow Abraith's winding trail. On and on he rode, ignoring his own thirst and hunger and driving the poor horse beneath him to the brink of its endurance.
As the sun began to sink behind the hills, Uther at last caught site of the high-reaching turrets of Camelot and urged the horse those last few miles, not once slowing his pace. Tired and exhausted, they clattered noisily through the castle gates, across the market square and right up to the stone steps, Uther dismounting in one fluid motion and thrusting the reigns at the first guard he saw as he sprinted into the castle itself.
Tearing headlong down the corridor, Uther came up short as he approached Ygraine's private chambers and saw Gaius exit the room, quietly closing the door behind him.
"Gaius!" he called breathlessly, gripping his arm firmly as he ran up to him, "How is Ygraine? Is the baby well? …Gaius?"
The look that haunted the older physician's face painted a dark and vivid picture, one that pierced a knife to his very soul.
Pushing slowly passed the physician; Uther opened the chamber doors and took in the pale and wretched sight of his poor broken wife lying pitifully upon her pillows. Gone was the healthy glow of her cheeks and the smile in her eyes, replaced instead by the empty look of despair employed solely by a mother who knows the pain of losing a child.