The Theft of the Crown of Bodran: The Charlie Braithwaite Stories, #3

By R.M. McLeod

A magical adventure story featuring the English schoolboy Charlie Braithwaite as, with the friends he made in the adventure 'The Witches of Lewthan Mountain', he once again sets off to the witch infested Darklands in search of a thief and an elfin king's quite priceless, stolen crown

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red Panda Press
• Release date: Jun 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386010135

R.M. McLeod

From being a small boy, R.M. McLeod has always been interested in ‘a good read’ and promised himself, from being a young boy, that one day he would also write one. He has had two books published in paperback – The Witches of Lewthan Mountain and The Escape of Athelwan. The Ghosts of Badger Wood has also been serialised in the North West Evening Mail. He lives in a fairly remote area of Cumbria and, he advises, it is the incredibly beautiful scenery surrounding his home that inspires the fantasies he so loves to write.

Book preview

The Theft of the Crown of Bodran

Or

The Band of Brothers

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R.M. McLeod

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Published by Red Panda Press at D2D 2017

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any events, persons, alive or dead is purely coincidental. The characters are fictitious products of the writer’s imagination.

Copyright R.M. McLeod 2004/2017

The Charlie Braithwaite Stories

The Witches of Lewthan Mountain

The Escape of Athelwan

The Theft of the Crown of Bodran or The Band of Brothers

The Revenge of Botan the Bone Crusher

Also by R. M. McLeod

The Ghosts of Badger Wood

Drop Zone

The Time Flyers

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Charlie is in class, listening to a boring geography lesson when his old friend, Argetlám the wizard, suddenly appears before him. Invisible to both Charlie’s teacher and the rest of the class, the wizard quickly tells his young friend that the much coveted and prized crown of the elfin King Bodran has been stolen. He also tells him that he would like Charlie’s help in finding the thief and recovering the king’s stolen property.

Thus begins yet another adventure for our young hero. This time, as with The Witches of Lewthan Mountain, Charlie has to venture deep into the Cumbrian Darklands, a strange and dangerous dimension dominated by hostile witches, giants, goblins and other dark forces of evil. His journey takes him via the Cumbrian lake known to humans as Wastwater, but better known to the wizard as the Mere of Ffion; home to Queen Ffion, sovereign lady of the water nymphs who dwell there. Whilst at the lake, Ffion presents Charlie with a sword that has strange magical and healing properties and once owned by the young Sir Galahad of Holy Grail fame. It is from there that they cross into the awesomely dangerous dimension of the Darklands where they immediately stumble across elves and goblins fully engaged in a battle to the death and it is then that Charlie’s third, great adventure, really does begin.

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The Theft of the Crown of Bodran

or

The Band of Brothers

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R.M. McLeod

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"This story shall the good man teach his son;

And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,

From this day to the ending of the world,

But we in it shall be remember'd,

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;

For he to-day that sheds his blood with me

Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,

This day shall gentle his condition:

And gentlemen in England now a-bed

Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here

And hold their manhoods cheap while any speaks

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."

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King Henry V, Act. IV, Sc. III

William Shakespeare 1564-1616

Chapter 1

The Crown Goes Missing

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It was turning into one of those days for Charlie Braithwaite. The weather was foul, Mr Shawcross, his form teacher, was in a foul mood and all Charlie wanted to do was go home and get to grips with his new computer game. Bored almost totally out of his brain with the geography lesson, his eyes began to wander, aimlessly, around the classroom. He looked through the window but it was raining and therefore, like the rest of the day, boring. He glanced across at Harry Carpenter, his best school pal. Harry was so bored he seemed to be falling asleep; in fact, he was falling asleep. He cast a sly glance at Rachel Brampton, the brightest pupil in the form, he was certain that even she was asleep too. Then, as his eyes moved back towards the teacher, he saw something that, suddenly, mind-bogglingly and joyfully, snapped him back to full consciousness. Sat on the teacher’s desk, grinning from ear to and waving at him impishly was a very, very old, white-bearded man. Charlie rubbed his eyes thinking he was seeing things, but when he opened them again, and to his great joy, the white-bearded old man was still there. The visitor was dressed in a long, black cloak, wore a tall, battered, wide-brimmed pointed hat, which, like his cloak, was covered in golden stars, quarter moons, bolts of lightning and all manner of other strange and magical symbols.

‘Argetlám!’ shouted Charlie happily, before, too late, he realised his mistake.

The old wizard, noting Charlie’s expression of horror, merely grinned even more. ‘Don’t worry Charlie,’ he shouted, above the voice of the teacher. ‘You’re the only one who can see or hear me and no one has heard you shout my name.’

‘Thanks goodness for that,’ replied Charlie, as he watched the wizard ease himself off the desk and amble towards him. ‘Anyway, what brings you here? Not that I’m not glad to see you of course, you’ve no idea how mind-shreddingly boring old Shawcross is being today.’

‘Shawcross?’ said Argetlám, who had now sat on Charlie’s desk.

‘My teacher,’ helped Charlie, ‘he’s even duller than usual today.’

‘Ah,’ replied the wizard, nodding with understanding, ‘well, in that case, how do you fancy a little adventure?’

‘Try me,’ replied Charlie, eagerly. ‘What is it this time, goblins, witches, evil sorcerers or all three?’

‘At the moment even I don’t know,’ said Argetlám, scratching his chin, thoughtfully. ‘However, this could be your most dangerous adventure yet.’

Charlie grimaced. ‘Sounds exciting, where are we going?’

‘Probably, back into The Darklands, Charlie; into the realm of those who’ve chosen the Left-Hand Path, the way of evil.’

‘What’s the problem?’

Once again, the ancient wizard looked thoughtful. ‘In order to answer that question,’ he began, making himself more comfortable, ‘I think I’d better start at the very beginning. Many, many centuries ago, Merlin the magician presented the king of a certain tribe of elfin folk a magnificent crown, made of the finest Welsh gold. It was a work of art, forged in the ever-burning furnaces of the Light and worked to perfection in the workshops beneath the great mountains of Wales. For months, only the most skilled and trusted of craftsmen and women were allowed to work upon it. The Welsh gold was burnished to such a hue it almost outshone the brilliance of the sun and the huge, flawless, blood red rubies with which it was liberally decorated were like no others ever seen by immortal or humankind alike. Finally, it was lined with the highest quality, purple-dyed, Chinese silk and as I said earlier, when, at long last it was finished; Merlin presented it, in person, to King Bodran, the sovereign lord of the elfin tribe of Merewan.’

‘Why?’ asked Charlie. ‘I mean, what did the king do to deserve such a gift?’

Argetlám smiled, smugly. ‘King Bodran and his brave warrior elves saved the life of one of the greatest wizards Britain has ever known,’ he replied.

‘Merlin,’ said Charlie, immediately.

‘Merlin’s most successful apprentice and his deputy grand wizard,’ corrected Argetlám.

Charlie shook his head and frowned. ‘I don’t think I know him.’

‘Of course you do!’ growled the wizard, angrily, ‘It was me – of course!’

Charlie saw the look of anguish on Argetlám’s face and began to chuckle. ‘Sorry,’ he replied, ‘I should have known, but I thought that you were immortal.’

‘Not then and yes you certainly should have know who I was talking about,’ agreed Argetlám, still looking far from happy. ‘Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve told you during our other adventures?’

‘Sorry,’ said Charlie again, ‘but, you’ve still not told me what the problem is; or how you came to be saved by the elves.’

‘I was coming to that,’ snapped the wizard, ‘please try to be more patient, Charlie. Now where was I? Ah...yes,’ he continued, holding up a finger, ‘now I remember. It was while I was on a secret mission, for no less a person than Merlin himself. I was alone and trekking my way through the Great Forest of the North when, suddenly and quite out of the blue, I was set upon by a couple of dozen of Athelwan’s ugliest and most aggressive goblins.’

‘Oh I remember Athelwan,’ said Charlie, ‘he’s the sorcerer who escaped imprisonment, the one I helped you recapture in our last adventure.’

‘The very one,’ agreed Argetlám. ‘Anyway, these goblins were nasty little brutes; all armed with short, pointed swords and cudgels. I have to admit that they took me completely by surprise and were it not for the timely intervention of King Bodran and his elves, who were out on a hunting trip, I’d undoubtedly have been a goner.’

‘So that’s why a grateful Merlin presented the king with the crown,’ observed Charlie. ‘As a sort of thank you, for saving his most successful apprentice.’

‘Correct,’ agreed the wizard. ‘It was also where I met Darawan for the first time. You see, I was badly beaten and the king instructed Darawan to attend me.’ Argetlám, remembering those far off days suddenly smiled. ‘The faithful, elfin bowman has been with me ever since.’

Charlie nodded, after two unbelievably exciting adventures with Argetlám, he too had come to know and respect the loyal elf the old wizard was obviously so fond of. ‘So, what’s happened to the king’s gift?’ he asked.

Argetlám’s expression became grave. ‘In a nutshell, the magnificent Crown of Bodran has been stolen.’

‘Stolen!’ gasped Charlie.

‘Stolen, Charlie; thieved, robbed, pinched, filched, whatever, these days, you young people call taking something that doesn’t belong to you. Yes, I’m afraid it has indeed been stolen.’

‘Who took it?’ asked Charlie.

The wizard shook his head. ‘I haven’t got a clue, nor unfortunately has King Bodran.’

‘You mean he’s absolutely no idea?’ asked Charlie.

‘None,’ confirmed Argetlám, ‘what makes it even worse is that the old king very rarely wears it these days. Normally the crown is kept in the strong room of his palace and only used on very special ceremonial occasions, such as the times when he has a VIP visiting. You know; someone very important, such as another king or queen. Apparently, the last time he can remember wearing it was over two years ago, when Mornina, the queen of all the fairies, paid him a call.’

‘Two years ago you say,’ gasped Charlie, ‘that means the trail of clues will be___’

‘Stone cold,’ cut in Argetlám, ‘so, if we’re to recover the crown we’ll have to start with a very cold trail I’m afraid and, as we near the lair of the thief, one that will be fraught with immense danger for all of us.’

‘Why’s that then?’ asked Charlie.

‘Because