Jack Whyte - The Sorcer part 1 - The Fort at River's Bend

Poor old Lucanus went to work the moment they arrived, and we saw little of him for the ensuing few days. Shortly after our arrival in Mediobogdum, he had designated one entire building as his Infirmary, and he lived there, in the senior centurion's quarters at the western end of the block. Luke seldom ventured out, even to eat. His meals were taken to him where he sat with one patient or another, touching them, talking to them and willing them back to health.

The sight of our three old comrades was like a draught of heady wine for Dedalus, Rufio and me, and the celebration of their arrival was a major event, although a highly exclusive one, since none but the six of us attended. Only the next day, when the fumes had cleared from my head and my skull had ceased reverberating like a brazen cymbal with each beat of my heart, did Benedict hand me the letter he carried from my brother.

I had asked him the previous day what had kept Ambrose from us, and he had merely shrugged and said that Ambrose now felt he should no longer keep the challenge of the long journey to Ravenglass to himself; that it was time others shared the responsibility and honour. I had accepted that. The letter, however, threw a different light on things. I made my way outside the rear gate to where I could sit undisturbed and broke the seal on my brother's letter, hearing his voice in my mind as I read aloud what he had written:

Ambrose Ambrosianus to Caius Merlyn Britannicus:

Greetings, Brother.

I have received word out of Cornwall, brought for your attention by a Druid of those parts, that there has again been great strife in that unfortunate region. Kings and princes, including that Dumnoric who won prominence after the death of Gulrhys Lot, have gone down in death, and the land is fought over and laid waste by a large number of warring factions. One of the warlords involved is your old enemy Ironhair, of whom we had hoped to hear no more. Alas, having resurfaced, he has won a degree of preeminence and seems bent, according to this report, upon the total destruction of all his challengers. In a reversal of roles, it appears he is now assisted by Carthac, whom we know to be a depraved monster of a man, the mere sight of whom strikes terror into their enemies.

I inquired of the Druid why this should be so, and his response brought back to me the tales you told of this Carthac's descent into dementia after a head injury received in his youth. It would appear now that his depravity is such that he is no longer worthy of being considered human. He has gigantic strength and he kills for the sheer pleasure of spilling blood and causing pain. I am told his prowess in battle is extraordinary and his presence in a fight is the equal often normal men. That may be greatly exaggerated, but nonetheless it bespeaks great strength and power. His blood lust is insatiable, they say, and does not abate once free of the battlefield. This Carthac loves to kill by slow torture and has been known to do so merely to while away some evening hours, choosing victims at random, even from among his own army.

The primary horror, however, and the greatest cause for the fear and awe the monstrous being causes, is his cannibalism. He roasts the flesh of his victims and eats it, and he wears necklaces of human ears about his neck and shoulders. Everyone walks in terror of him, save for Ironhair, to whom the creature seems devoted: Our Druid friend came here seeking your assistance for the people of that land, and mistook me for you. He was greatly disappointed not to find you here and begged me to pass on this word to you, and to wish you well. His name is Tumac, and he says he knew you well, once, long ago.

Tumac! I released the bottom of the tightly rolled scroll, allowing it to spring back into place, rose to my feet and began pacing agitatedly. Tumac had been the second, and the younger, of the two students apprenticed to my old teacher Daffyd the Druid. They were mere children when I first knew them, and years younger than me. Long before I knew I had a brother called Ambrose, Tumac and Mod had been as dear to me as siblings. Daffyd had been viciously slain by this same Carthac for his loyalty to me, and Mod, the elder student of the two, had been speared and left for dead at the same time, vainly trying to assist and protect his tutor.

The unexpected sight of Tumac's name in this letter dispelled any "doubt I might have had about the truth of the report on Carthac's madness and atrocities. Cannibal and murderer by torture! Why had someone not put an end to him long before now? He was but a man, despite his fearsome reputation, and even a mad dog would be long since dead for lesser sins than those of which he stood accused.

I had no doubt his appalling ferocity might inspire terror in any individual man, but I remembered Dergyll's description of how, when Carthac's boyhood excesses had become too grim to suffer, his companions had banded together to get rid of him, abducting him by force and thrashing him savagely, then abandoning him high in the hills with dire Warnings of what would happen to him should he ever dare return to afflict them again. That had been effective in deterring him then. Perhaps his dementia had progressed too far in the interim to be checked, but I found myself wondering why someone had not simply killed him, from concealment, with a well-aimed arrow.

Deeply agitated by these thoughts, and shaken by the depths of the feelings of revulsion, anger and disgust they stirred in me, I forced myself to breathe deeply and made a determined attempt to empty my mind of Carthac and of Ironhair. I walked the length of the escarpment behind the rear gate several times, staring down at the carpet of tree tops far beneath and forcing myself to keep my mind empty of anything except what I could see with my eyes. Then, when my unruly thoughts had settled down and I felt calm enough to read again, I returned to the letter, settling myself again on the rock that had become my favoured seat. ,

Caius, I have no idea how these tidings will affect you, but I suspect you will be much disturbed by what you are reading here. If that is so, rest easy. Cornwall is as far from your new home as it is possible to go in west Britain, and Tumac says that · Ironhair's ambition is to rule as king in Cornwall. I see no reason to doubt the rightness of that, and it follows naturally that, as an upstart king, usurping power in Cornwall, Ironhair can pose no threat to you in Ravenglass, where no one knows your true identity. Nonetheless, forewarned is forearmed. Ironhair yet lives, and now we know where.

Otherwise, all is quiet here in Camulod. I have no word of how things are developing in Vortigern's domain. Optimist I may be, but I choose to accept the silence as confirmation that the king is well and Hengist still has power upon his son Horsa. Dergyll reigns on in Cambria, and he and I have met several times in the past few years. He is an amiable fellow and seems to rule his folk with benevolence and wisdom over and above his iron hand. He asked me to wish you well, wherever you might be.

Greetings, too, from Owain of the Caves, who continues to instruct our bowmen in the art of the great Celtic bow. He assumed responsibility, a few years ago, for two unwed sisters here in Camulod who had lost their only brother to the wasting sickness several years prior to that, and since then he has kept both of them pregnant and seemingly well content. He spoke warmly of you when last we met and asked me to pass on his good wishes when next I saw you. I was surprised that he should know anything of your whereabouts, or that you and I should be meeting each other, but then I realized that with the passage of so many of our people between here and Ravenglass, it would be impossible to keep the secret close. I treated his approach with circumspection, nevertheless, and made sure to betray nothing, even though he is an old friend of yours. He made no mention of our boy, so I believe his wishes may be taken at face value.