Chronicle of Ages

By Traci Harding

traci Harding returns to the Ancient Future trilogy which ended with the ࢨosen leaving Earth for the further reaches of space. Earth must follow its own path for a time while the gods battle elsewhere. Noah, storyteller and chronicler, tutors the children born after colonisation and must explore the past to fill in the gaps in his written histories. tory, Maelgwn and Rhun recall their life and times in ancient Britain when Maelgwn reigned as High King of the Britons and tory was a student of time travel and immortality under taliesin. Rhun became King of Gwynned after Maelgwn. When Vortipor, High King of the Britons, dies, there is a bloody four day skirmish over who should succeed him. Sir Bryce is killed in the action and Rhun is forced to abdicate. Noah finds himself on a celestial journey through the ethers, space and time as the missing years in his Chronicle of Ages unfold.
Traci Harding returns to the Ancient Future trilogy which ended with the ࢨosen߬eaving Earth for the further reaches of space. Earth must follow its own path for a time while the gods battle elsewhere. Noah, storyteller and chronicler, tutors the children born after colonisation and must explore the past to fill in the gaps in his written histories. tory, Maelgwn and Rhun recall their life and times in ancient Britain when Maelgwn reigned as High King of the Britons and tory was a student of time travel and immortality under taliesin. Rhun became King of Gwynned after Maelgwn. When Vortipor, High King of the Britons, dies, there is a bloody four day skirmish over who should succeed him. Sir Bryce is killed in the action and Rhun is forced to abdicate.Noah finds himself on a celestial journey through the ethers, space and time as the missing years in his Chronicle of Ages unfold.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Dec 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9780730499732

Traci Harding

Traci Harding is one of Australia's best loved and most prolific authors. Her stories blend fantasy, fact, esoteric belief, time travel and quantum physics, into adventurous romps through history, alternative dimensions, universes and states of consciousness. She has published more than 20 bestselling books and been translated into several languages. 

Book preview

Prologue

The Narrator’s Tale

The university in Chailida has grown into a centre of learning to rival those once found in the ancient City of the Golden Gates. Chailida was named in fond remembrance of the capital city of Atlantis in the hope that one day our capital would embody the famed harmonious lifestyle of the Old Land.

The layout of Chailida is based on the same circular design as Chailidocean, but there are no gates separating one island ring from another and all residents are free to roam where they please. The inner island of our fair city is host to the buildings and dwellings of the government officials and their families. The local residents and tourists have access to the central island, except in the event of a crisis — although Chailida is yet to know one.

There wasn’t a trace of civilisation on this divine planet when the Serpent’s clan arrived here fifty years ago, and now Chailida is a thriving metropolis. The big difference between Kila and Gaia is that outside Chailida the rest of the planet remains untouched. All of the Serpent’s clans — red, yellow, black and white — reside in Chailida. We live as one people, work and develop as one race, for we are the Chosen Ones — the immortal sons and daughters of the Nefilim Lord Marduk. Our unity ensures the best world management for Kila, as we consider ourselves guardians of the planet, rather than owners. Here, all the species of flora and fauna that have been lost to mankind’s greed on Gaia thrive. All of our city’s needs are imported from the neighbouring star systems.

We, the Chosen, need only one export to sustain our colony, and that export is ourselves, for there are no finer warriors in the known universe. We are a nation of psychically and physically powerful beings, admired and feared by most in the galaxy. The philosophers, seers, healers, astronomers and scholars amongst us are also renowned, which makes for a thriving tourist trade. Kila is fast becoming the most sought-out destination for all the human breeds residing in this quadrant of the galaxy, which was named by the Nefilim, AN-TU-IM — Heaven of Storms.

Antuim is plagued by meteor showers. This is why such a prize planet as Kila remained undiscovered and undisturbed for so long. The star system of which Kila is a part is surrounded by systems filled with space debris, though due to our star system’s differing rotation to those surrounding, it manages to repel most of the troublesome refuse. Thus, Kila’s system has been aptly named ESH-MAH — the divine inside place — as it is indeed a peaceful haven in a galaxy of chaos.

I must say that I, for one, simply adore everything about living on Kila. Not a day passes that I don’t bless the day that I stumbled into the path of Tory Alexander.

If there is a Chosen ‘one’ amidst the ranks of the Chosen then Tory Alexander is that singular exceptional soul. For it was she who struck the deal with the Nefilim that landed the Chosen Ones on this thriving virgin planet. The mighty Nefilim are the intergalactic rulers of the known universe and did not grant the Serpent’s clan this beautiful, brave new world out of the kindness of their hearts. It is an experiment, as is the case with nearly all Nefilim endeavours.

Tory’s winning argument was that the Nefilim, during their various comings and goings from Gaia, confused humankind’s beliefs and had nurtured humans in the art of destruction since infancy. Now that some of humankind had reached a certain physical, mental and spiritual maturity, Tory felt that we, the Chosen Ones, could prove that humankind no longer needed the Nefilim’s form of higher supervision. Since Tory and her husband, King Maelgwn of Gwynedd — otherwise known as ‘the Dragon’ — had resolved an age-old Nefilim dispute and done the Pantheon of Twelve a great service in the process, the Nefilim Lord Nergal, head of the great Pantheon, decided to allow Tory the chance to make good her claim. The Nefilim had been consuming Gaia’s natural resources for approximately four hundred and fifty thousand years before they finally left humankind to finish her off; thus Nergal granted the Chosen the same amount of years to inhabit Kila.

Now, only time shall tell if Kila will be in better shape than Gaia after the same amount of civilised occupation. If the Chosen can maintain the health and beauty of this planet, then we shall inherit Kila for all time.

‘Only four hundred and forty-nine thousand, nine hundred and fifty years till judgment day,’ I sat thinking, my eyes upturned to the brilliant blue-green sky above.

Some of the native plant life on Kila emit a green gaseous vapour that is perfectly harmless to breathe, but it colours the sky an almost fluorescent shade of aquamarine.

I had no lectures on my agenda this particular morning, so I was using the free time to update my chronicles. On the stairs of the Purcell Institute of Immortal History I reclined comfortably, absorbing the morning sunshine.

The building at my back was dedicated to me, Noah Purcell, by my fellow Chosen, in recognition of the extensive work that I have done in recording a history of our kind. On this very spot, forty years ago, I began tutoring the children of the Chosen in the origins of their kindred.

It was back on Gaia that I penned the first story relating to the Dragon’s line of the Serpent’s Clan, but since landing on Kila I have dedicated myself to compiling a complete history of every branch of the Serpent’s family tree. I am proud to say that my Chronicle of Ages is considered the definitive historical reference text here on Kila as it gives a full account of the life and times of all Chosen Ones — or so I believed.

‘En Noah, might we have a word?’ ‘En’ was an old Atlantean term that referred to anyone in a position of authority.

When I looked up to find two of Tory Alexander’s grandchildren, Ragan and Asher, bounding up the stairs towards me, I felt all hope of getting any serious work done depart abruptly.

The daughter of Tory’s daughter Rhiannon, was one feisty young miss named Ragan, whose intellect and curiosity far exceeded a girl of fifteen years of age. Rai took after the dark side of her family, as her mother did. Ebony eyes and near-black hair, Ragan had inherited her father’s curls. Her skin was fair, akin to the rest of her clan, as was her slender but rugged build.

Asher, Rhun of Gwynedd’s first-born son on Kila, who trailed Rai up the Institute stairs, had the fair blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes that also popped up in the Dragon’s family line from time to time. A bright young lad, Asher was a year younger than the girl he followed everywhere.

‘I am at your complete disposal, Ragan,’ said I, having no idea what I was letting myself in for. ‘What can I do for you?’ I motioned both of my students to be seated.

‘I have read your chronicles, En Noah, several times over,’ Rai began politely, after seating herself at my feet.

‘And,’ Asher cut in, ‘we were wondering —’

As Rai reached up and grabbed hold of Asher’s shirt, pulling him down to a seat beside her, the lad fell silent.

Asher realised that he had spoken out of turn and meekly gestured for Rai to go ahead and convey their query.

Appeased, Rai turned back to me. ‘Meaning no disrespect to your magnificent work, En Noah, we have noted that a few key eras from our family history seem to have been omitted.’

‘What?’ A note of offence snuck into my tone, for the child’s statement took me completely off guard.

‘Perhaps we shouldn’t have mentioned it,’ Rai suggested, in an attempt at being humble.

‘No, no.’ I cleared my throat to dismiss the insulted tone that was still underlying my responses. ‘If I have overlooked an important period, naturally I want to know about it.’

‘Actually, from what I can tell,’ Rai ventured, ‘there are several periods void.’

‘Several!’ Again I was forced to clear my throat of its agitated strain. ‘Several?’ I repeated my query, managing to sound genuinely interested this time.

Asher nodded along with Rai to confirm this, although he dared not steal her thunder.

‘Yes,’ Rai pulled out her psycho-kinetic memory enhancer that was a standard issue study tool here on Kila.

This hand-held chrome orb performed the same function as a PC back on Gaia, but the PME absorbed information directly from the user’s mind and stored it for reference.

Rai was silent a moment as she consulted her notes. ‘In the last lesson, at the conclusion of volume one, Grandmother had defeated the witch Mahaud at Aberffraw in the year nineteen hundred and ninety four — Gaia time. She then safely returned the infant, Rhun —’

‘Father,’ Asher added, dying to speed up the question.

Rai gave him a glance of disdain, before continuing. ‘Back to Gwynedd, to the year five hundred and twenty. Gaia time.’

‘That is correct,’ I nodded, as eager as Asher for Rai to get to the point.

‘Then, in the first lesson of volume two, we skip straight to the destruction of Aberffraw and the second great battle for Arwystli, which didn’t take place until the year five hundred and forty — Gaia time. So —’

‘We want to know what happened in the twenty years in between that caused Grandfather to be appointed High King of the Britons?’ Asher blurted out the punch line.

I was shocked to say the very least. Due to all the time-jumps the Dragon’s clan had done, it was possible that I had overlooked such an important era of Maelgwn’s reign.

‘At the end of volume one there was no such title as High King of the Britons,’ Rai explained the reason for their curiosity. ‘So what occurred during that time to make such an appointment necessary?’

At this point in the conversation I became aware that my jaw was dropping and so closed my mouth. ‘A very intriguing question.’ A question to which I had no answer, for I had not explored this period in ancient Briton.

‘Furthermore,’ Rai moved on, ‘nothing is said of Grandfather’s time in the service of the Lord Marduk, following his abduction from Gaia in the year five hundred and forty.’

Now I was frowning, she was right again.

‘And what of my father’s rule in Gwynedd, and his time as High King of Briton?’ Asher questioned further, to my great bewilderment.

‘How he came by the crown of Gwynedd has been documented,’ Asher informed, ‘but no account has been made of his rise to High King?’

I was a little surprised by this query.

‘Has your father not spoken with you about that period of his life?’ I asked.

‘Bits and pieces,’ Asher shrugged, ‘but he’s never on the planet long enough to go into it with me in any great depth.’

‘I see.’ I inhaled deeply. ‘So, is that all the oversights you found, or should I brace myself for more?’

‘That is all.’ Rai smiled at me reassuringly, as she and Asher stood up to go to their class.

‘Well then, rest assured that I shall endeavour to correct these oversights,’ I told them, still stunned that the oversights existed. ‘I thank you for drawing my attention to them.’

‘You’re most welcome, En Noah.’ Rai beamed with pride. ‘I’ll let you know if we find any more.’

Heaven forbid, I thought, as I watched the pair bound off to their next conquest.

Just when I thought I had finally got all the chronicles up to date, another year’s work had suddenly manifested.

No rest for the insane, I told myself, having freely chosen the task of compiling these records.

A little overawed by the amount of work ahead, I found myself smiling all the same, for the ghosts of ages past were again beckoning me forth to the untold adventures within the Dragon’s fold.

That evening I set about acquiring the first-hand accounts I would require to document those periods previously neglected in my chronicles.

Those who had witnessed the events of the missing eras were all key figures in Kila’s governmental hierarchy and thus would have precious little time to spare on recording their memoirs for moi. If I wished to obtain the information I sought this side of Judgment Day, I needed to make fulfilling my request as simple as possible.

I dispatched three PME orbs with a mental note to each of the recipients. These outlined my request and the reason behind it.

The first orb I teleported to the attention of the reigning Governor of Kila, the Dragon himself, Maelgwn Gwynedd. For only he could give me a complete account of the time immediately following his abduction from sixth century Gwynedd. I confess that I did not expect to see this thought-recorder again in a hurry as our Governor was currently on a public relations tour of the galaxy with several members of the great Pantheon.

As I realised Maelgwn would have his hands full satisfying my request, I sent the second orb to our Governess, Tory Alexander. With Maelgwn away Tory also had a full agenda seeing to the day-to-day running of Kila. She had many a wise advisor and assistant to aid her in her high appointment, but still her time was precious these days. I felt that even such a dear friend as I would probably be stretching the friendship by adding to her already overwhelming workload. Still, besides Maelgwn, Tory was my only hope of gaining a full account of the Dragon’s rise in status to High King of the Britons. In my note to her, I humbly suggested that she only comply with my request if she ever did find herself at leisure — it wasn’t like any of us were going anywhere in a hurry. If I didn’t get to amend my chronicles as soon as I would like, it mattered not, for I had the whole of eternity at my disposal, as did all the Chosen.

The third orb I had no choice but to send to Rhun of Gwynedd, even though I fully expected that it would never return to me. It wasn’t that Rhun’s appointment as head of Deep Space Exploration kept him so incredibly busy. It was more that he was so completely obsessed with his work that his focus could rarely be distracted from it. I hoped that, as I was enquiring on his son’s behalf, Rhun would be encouraged to make the effort.

When and if the orbs were returned to me, there would be much work to do before the accounts they contained could be presented to my two inquisitive scholars and, indeed, the rest of my pupils.

The statements the thought recorders contained would have to be censored to suit the range of ages amongst the students who attend the Purcell Institute. A good part of my chronicles is stored on a psycho-kinetic retrieval system, so that as the students age and mature, new chapters of the age-old legends become available for reference. Even so, there are still some periods of human history considered too detrimental to be experienced psychically, and so they are recorded in text only.

Two days later I was summoned to Government House to have morning tea with our Governess, the Honourable Tory Alexander.

Sibyl, Rhun’s better half, showed me through Tory’s office to a balcony that overlooked the lovely parks of the inner island.

‘Our Governess will join you presently,’ she informed politely, motioning me to be seated.

Sibyl was numbered among our best Seers, and had become one of Tory’s chief advisors. With Rhun and Maelgwn absent from the planet a good deal of the time, the two women had also become close companions.

‘Do you know why Tory has summoned me here?’ I probed before Sibyl managed to escape back indoors.

She smiled an awkward smile, knowing I already knew that she was aware of the reason. ‘She’s not annoyed at you, Noah.’ Sibyl addressed my most pressing fear. ‘Tory is very much looking forward to seeing you. So please sit and help yourself to some refreshments.’

The instruction was pleasant enough to carry out, yet I couldn’t relax. I was excited by the prospect of spending a little time in Tory’s company. I missed the days of working alongside her on a daily basis as I had back on Gaia. Her confidence, enthusiasm and determination were an inspiration to all who encountered her, and I was no exception.

As I had made Tory infinite cups of tea in the past, I did the honours while I awaited her.

‘Hello, stranger.’

I didn’t have to look up to know it was Tory. Her voice was unmistakable. ‘Perfect timing,’ I announced as I finished stirring her cup and stood in greeting.

For a woman in a high pressure job, Tory looked fabulous. The plain tailored pants-suit of deep purple that she wore was made of a very soft fibre that flowed around her athletic form as she walked. Most in Chailida wore loose, comfortable, hooded clothing as the climate in this part of Kila was quite warm all year round. Her long golden hair was twirled up into a bun and only short wisps that escaped her hairdo danced around her face.

‘Don’t you dare get formal with me, Noah Purcell.’

She motioned me back to my seat, but I remained upstanding. ‘Actually, I thought I’d have a better chance of scoring a hug.’

Tory’s smile overwhelmed me, as did the tears in her eyes as she approached and gave me a long squeeze. ‘You always score a hug.’ She stepped back and handed me the orb I’d sent her. ‘All that I remember of Maelgwn’s appointment to High King of Briton is on there, along with some additional accounts from others to fill in some of the blanks that elude me.’

Her prompt response to my request overwhelmed me, I couldn’t think what to say. ‘I didn’t mean to put you to any bother.’

‘It was no bother.’ Tory seated herself and took her tea in hand. ‘In fact, it was a rather intriguing exercise.’

As Tory sipped the tea I had prepared in advance, I backed up to take my seat. She gave a deep sigh of satisfaction to let me know the brew was to her liking.

‘You still haven’t lost your touch,’ she assured me.

‘I forget nothing of our time together,’ I told her, realising I was flirting. I could tell by the amused look on her face that Tory knew it too.

‘In your present reincarnation, you mean?’ she added.

‘Why, yes.’ Her response puzzled me slightly and my eyes narrowed. ‘Are you trying to tell me something?’

Tory’s expression became more serious and she placed her teacup aside. ‘When Rhun and I first began working on your past-life memory with you, there were several periods of your incarnation as the sixth century bard, Selwyn, that you’d blocked out completely.’

‘Were there?’ I was intrigued to learn this. ‘I don’t recall you mentioning —’

‘That’s because we were afraid of making the blockages worse. We knew then was not the right time for you to confront these memories, and we didn’t wish to instil a conscious fear of facing the past once it did come calling to set you right.’ Tory smiled and casually offered me a biscuit, but those deep violet eyes of hers betrayed the sympathy she felt.

Deep inside, panic gripped my being. ‘So, you’re implying that you think I am at odds with myself?’

‘What I’m saying is that there are things about the period of time contained in that orb that you may not want to face. Unfortunately, there are parts of the tale that only Selwyn knows, and those facts are locked in some dark recess of your memory.’

I sat stupefied a second. Was that why I hadn’t researched this period of history: it wasn’t that I had overlooked it, so much as unconsciously ignored it.

‘I would be happy to help you work through the events,’ Tory offered. ‘Other than that, you might try to seek the counsel of Taliesin … he might even respond to a summons from you.’ Her tone became rather indignant; hence I gathered she’d had problems contacting the ascended Master.

The foreboding in my gut was growing. ‘Do you know what it is I refuse to remember?’

My question made Tory frown. ‘I could only guess, I’m afraid, and I could be wrong. Selwyn never divulged his secret to me, or anyone, as far as I know. Better that you face your demons, Noah, and discover the answers for yourself.’ Tory shrugged apologetically, and finished her tea.

‘Secret, you say?’ I fished for information.

Tory nodded. ‘The young bard pulled off an extraordinary coup, you see, that saved the day. But, by whatever means he achieved what he did, it saddened Selwyn greatly and drove him to the life of a hermit for many years following Maelgwn’s appointment to High King of Briton.’

As I sat dwelling on the discoveries that lay ahead, I must have drained of colour.

‘Look at it this way.’ Tory sought to pep me up. ‘You ask others to relive the harrowing experiences of their past for the sake of posterity. Now here’s your chance to make a contribution.’

I forced a smile in response.

‘Oh, come on, where’s your sense of adventure?’ She encouraged me with a nudge to the shoulder. ‘After all, you asked for it.’

Back in my study at the Institute, the thought-recorder Tory had returned to me sat idle on my desk. The orb seemed to be taunting me as I pondered what could have driven Selwyn into isolation.

Years ago, back on Gaia, I was contacted by the part of my higher self that was once Selwyn. The great Druid told me he had left all of his precious histories in the safe keeping of Taliesin — High Druid of Briton — to give to me, Selwyn’s Chosen incarnation. Not one of the documents had mentioned Selwyn’s time spent in isolation, nor what had driven him to it. And where other periods of Maelgwn’s reign were heavily documented, his rise to High King status was not even given a mention. Whatever it was that happened during this time, Selwyn sure didn’t want it remembered — perhaps by me least of all.

‘So …’ I reached out and took the thought-recorder in hand. ‘I have been blocking out these recollections since the Dark Ages, hey?’ I sat back in my seat and made myself comfortable. ‘Sorry, Selwyn, it has to be done.’ I activated the play function and opened my mind to its data.

The recording commenced with an … oratory from Tory that overlaid a visual of a memory of presiding over a general meeting of the allied kingdoms of Briton. The leaders of Gwynedd, Powys, Gwent, Dumnonia, Dalriada and Dyfed were present — all of whom appeared a mite concerned about something.

‘The rise of Maelgwn to the status of High King of Briton began during the tenth year of his reign as King of Gwynedd, 529 AD Gaia Time. Aurelius Conan, son of Aurelius Caninus, King of Gwent Is Coed, returned from studying in Italy the same year to assume the crown of Gwent Is Coed.

That year the Beltaine festival was hosted at Castle Dwyran in Dyfed. All the leaders from the surrounding kingdoms descended upon Vortipor, the Protector of Dyfed, and his lovely wife, the Lady Cara, to partake of their hospitality for the duration of the festival that would continue for several days …

PART 1

Tales from the Dark Age

Map of Prydyn 529 AD

Character List

KILA

GWYNEDD

1

The One Begotten Son

This was to be the last festival that Aurelius Caninus would attend, as his old bones were getting beyond journeying. To the next great meeting of the alliance Aurelius would send his son, Conan. The old ruler expected his boy to return home from Ravenna, the capital of Justinian’s empire in the north of Italy, any day now. Despite Aurelius’ assurances that his son would not fall short of the allied kingdoms expectations, it worried Aurelius’ fellow leaders that Conan was not of the native faith.

‘Once he hast witnessed all the wonders I have seen since meeting thee, Dragon, Conan too shall be inspired to the cause of the Goddess,’ Aurelius Caninus assured his allies at the pre-festival conference. ‘How could he not, when our pact has brought my kingdom ten years of peace and prosperity?’ The old ruler became short of breath and broke into a coughing fit.

Tory, who was the only woman present, rose to pour him a fresh glass of water and then aided him to drink it.

‘We all greatly look forward to meeting him,’ she told Aurelius, although glancing around at the other leaders assembled, Tory could tell they did not share her sentiments.

Aurelius was thankful for the water, but knowing his limits, decided to retire and leave the younger rulers to their agenda.

As King of Gwent Is Coed, Aurelius Caninus had maintained a good trade between his kingdom and Italy in the wake of the Roman retreat from Briton. Aurelius was particularly fond of their wine. At the time Conan had been born, Aurelius had yet to be acquainted with most of the rulers of his neighbouring kingdoms, with whom he was now allied. Thus, at that time, Aurelius had accepted the advice of his religious advisors to have Conan raised in the Roman faith, as he himself had been. It was arranged that Conan be taken to Ravenna to learn all that a great ruler should.

Twenty years later, Aurelius realised in retrospect that his son would have been better tutored by the Bards who taught the children of the royal families of Prydyn. Aurelius, raised in the Holy Roman faith, had only re-embraced the Old Ways of his people since meeting and joining forces with Maelgwn Gwynedd. Yet, in converting back to the way of the Goddess, Aurelius had not ostracised those of his kingdom who wished to maintain their Christian beliefs and allowed the Bishops and monasteries to continue to flourish in his kingdom — much as Catulus of Dumnonia had.

‘The lad shall be a cocky young upstart disposed toward the Roman faith and their way of doing things,’ King Brockwell of Powys grumbled, as soon as Aurelius had left the room.

‘Sounds rather like someone else I met once.’ King Catulus of Dumnonia turned his eyes Maelgwn’s way. ‘Hey, Dragon? Sounds like thee and Aurelius Conan could have a thing or two in common.’

‘We were all young and deluded once, Catulus,’ Maelgwn conceded with a smile.

‘Conan wast a good lad before he departed for Ravenna.’ Vortipor vouched for Aurelius’ word. ‘Perhaps our fears art in vain.’

‘Of course they art,’ Tory emphasised. ‘I feel sure that Aurelius Conan will want the best for his kingdom, as do we all.’

‘Aye, but will he recognise what be in the best interests of Gwent?’ Fergus MacErc, the Scot of Dalriada, folded his arms, clearly ill-at-ease.

‘I say we drag young Conan up to Llyn Cerrig Bach for an inauguration.’ Brockwell grinned, revealing the dimple on his chin. ‘Let the Goddess decide if he is worthy.’ He raised his brow, his blue eyes sparkling as he relished the thought.

Ten years a king, and Calin Brockwell was still as mischievous and audacious as ever.

‘Calin!’ Tory wasn’t surprised at him, but she made it sound as if she was. ‘Hopefully that will be the last step of the many it will take to right this situation.’

‘Ahh.’ Brockwell detected her doubtfulness and sought to exploit it. ‘So even thou dost concede that young Conan could be a threat to the alliance?’

Tory avoided Brockwell’s vexing question, suspecting that he had an ego-based motive for disliking the soon-to-be king. ‘Why doth thee persist in calling him young Conan, when the man be only a few years thy junior?’

The question shut Brockwell up, and gave the older members of the council something to chuckle about.

‘Thee should praise the Goddess, my friend.’ Catulus, the oldest of the rulers remaining in the room, slapped Brockwell’s back. ‘It will give the rest of us someone new to pick on.’ He ruffled Brockwell’s mass of dark unruly curls, until the warrior cast him off.

‘Laugh if thee will.’ Calin was well accustomed to not being taken seriously; he’d been the youngest member of the alliance for ten years. ‘But this kid will be trouble. I smell a battle brewing.’

The frowns on the faces of his fellow rulers told Tory that most of them agreed with Brockwell’s premonition. Only Vortipor chose to laugh off the comment.

‘Stop it, Calin, thou art scaring me,’ their burly host teased, cowering to play scared. ‘Well, I smell a celebration brewing!’ He stood, dispersing the doom and gloom from the room. ‘And if ye girls have quite finished imagining our fate, I would like to get festive.’

‘I second that motion.’ Maelgwn slammed his hands down on the table, bringing their meeting to a close.

Under the guise of an advisor to Aurelius, Conan moved through the banquet room, observing the rowdy pagans that his father had fallen in with.

He could hardly compare this raucous feast with the Roman banquets he was used to. The music and drunken laughter made any civilized conversation impossible. The orgy of sexual intercourse that would take place all over the countryside tonight seemed to be getting off to a fine start over dinner. And it wasn’t just the commoners who were submitting to their desires in public; the chieftains were openly flaunting their affections also.

Backward heathens, one and all, thought Conan, seating himself at one of the many long tables laden with food.

‘Some mead, sir?’

Conan turned to find a tall, slender maiden awaiting his word with a large jug of mead in hand. Her smile, so welcoming, took his breath away as he momentarily mistook her for a lady he had known in Ravenna. ‘Please,’ he said finally. The woman looked fragile, yet she had no problem handling the heavy jug and managed to fill his goblet without spilling a drop. ‘Thou dost serve thy mistress well.’ He acknowledged her servant’s skill.

Although Cara bowed to accept his intended compliment, she couldn’t help but giggle at his misconception. ‘I am the mistress of this house.’ Again she was amused by the bewildered look on the man’s face.

‘The hostess serving mead —’ Conan near choked with shock.

‘There be no better way to meet all my guests,’ she explained with glee. ‘I am the Lady Cara, and thou art …?’

‘An advisor to Aurelius Caninus.’ Conan stalled as he thought up a name for himself. ‘Sir Eldred.’ He borrowed a deceased uncle’s name.

‘I am pleased to meet thee, Sir Eldred.’ Cara gave a slight curtsy, although her social standing meant she was not bound to do so. ‘As an advisor to Aurelius, hast thou met his allies?’ Cara motioned to the main table where her honoured guests were seated.

Conan glanced at the main table in the grip of Beltaine revelry. ‘They appear to have their hands full at present.’ His attention returned to Cara.

Conan remembered Vortipor from childhood. The Protector of Dyfed had done well for himself. The Lady Cara was a vision of loveliness. Dark copper brown curls fell over the milky white skin of her shoulders and down her back in large orderly ringlets. Her eyes of hazel sparkled, full of life, and the luscious lips of her tiny mouth seemed, in Conan’s opinion, perfectly crafted for kissing.

‘Hast thou not got better things to do, woman?’ Vortipor grabbed up his wife from behind and hauled her away, squealing and giggling.

Conan stood, concerned by how the Lady was being manhandled. He watched as Vortipor relieved her of her pitcher and backing her up to the main table, proceeded to seduce her on it.

‘Take it outside, Vortipor,’ Tory whacked his shoulder to get his attention, and then referred him to her son. Rhun was eleven years of age and watching Vortipor’s seduction technique with great interest.

‘Little dragon, why art thou not in thy bed?’ Vortipor let his wife up from the table.

‘I have a headache,’ he announced, and as soon as his mother’s attention was diverted, Rhun grinned broadly.

‘Thou art a headache,’ Vortipor grumbled as he watched his wife return to their guests.

‘Rhun.’ Maelgwn called for his son’s attention and waved him in close. ‘See that man over there, sitting on his own?’ Rhun nodded in accord. ‘I do not recall ever seeing him before.’

‘Shall I find out his identity for thee, father?’ Rhun offered enthusiastically.

‘Do that.’ Maelgwn whacked his boy’s behind and sent him on his way.

‘Maelgwn!’ Tory caught onto their game. ‘What art thou asking him to do now?’

‘Nothing,’ Maelgwn lied, knowing his wife didn’t like him exploiting their son’s talents in such ways.

Tory watched Rhun like a hawk as he wandered up to the stranger across the room and struck up a conversation. Conan wasn’t very interested in talking to the lad, but that was no matter. Rhun was more interested in what the man was not saying and he only needed to be touching his victim to find out.

After Rhun had annoyed him with a few unimportant questions, the stranger up and left the room, so the young Prince of Gwynedd returned to his father to report.

‘He claims to be an advisor to Aurelius, one Sir Eldred,’ Rhun informed his father, but Vortipor and Brockwell took an interest in the boy’s truthsaying as well. ‘He lies,’ Rhun announced. ‘He is really the son of Aurelius, Conan, here to assess us.’

Brockwell smiled upon learning of Conan’s deception. ‘I would say we art doing a better job of assessing him.’ Brockwell ruffled Rhun’s hair, well proud of him. ‘Thou art an excellent spy.’

‘One more thing,’ Rhun addressed Vortipor. ‘He hast taken an interest in thy wife.’

‘What! How dare he …’ The information near sent the Protector into a drunken rage.

‘Vortipor!’ Maelgwn stood and grabbed hold of both Vortipor’s shoulders to get his full attention. ‘He has done naught but think thy wife attractive, which I am sure many men have done.’

Vortipor saw reason and settled.

‘Well, actually father, he thought —’

Maelgwn clamped a hand over Rhun’s mouth to silence the lad and prevent an incident.

‘See why I tell thee not to put him up to these things?’ Tory scolded her husband ever so slightly, and Maelgwn nodded to concede that he was in the wrong.

‘Let the boy speak,’ Vortipor insisted, until Tory stood to end the subject.

‘The boy,’ she stressed, glaring her son down, ‘be going to bed, before he starts a war.’ She motioned with her eyes for Rhun to take his leave, and he did so without further argument.

‘Well now.’ Brockwell slapped his hands together resolutely. ‘I think I will go find our dear Sir Eldred.’

‘I shall join thee.’ Vortipor moved to accompany his ally.

‘Oh no.’ Tory blocked the departure of the two stocky warriors. ‘I shall go.’

‘Aw, Tory, thou dost spoil all our fun,’ Calin whined.

‘I wast under the impression ye both had better things to do this evening?’ Vortipor and Calin couldn’t argue with that.

‘I wast under the impression that so did we?’ Maelgwn contested her ruling instead.

‘I shan’t be long,’ she advised them all, turning and fleeing before any could protest.

Tory found Conan cringing in disgust at the cavorting masses that were gathered around the Beltaine fires of the outer bailey.

People were dancing and chanting praises to Beli, the Lord of the harvest. Offerings were tossed to the flames in his honour as prime cattle were driven between the fires for purification and fertility.

‘Sir Eldred, I presume.’ Tory greeted him warmly, and was surprised when he backed up a few paces, wary of her.

This woman Conan had heard much about. If even half of what his father had told him of the Dragon’s queen was true, it was dangerous to be anywhere near her. For it was said that Tory Alexander was the instrument of a Goddess who channelled supernatural power through her. She was also the trainer of a handful of key warriors in Briton who had become known as the twelve Masters of the Goddess, or the Dragon’s circle. Their combined feats over the past ten years and their prowess in battle had become so legendary that even in Ravenna he’d heard the reports.

‘I did not mean to startle thee.’ Tory took a step toward Conan, and he again stepped away.

‘Thee did not.’ Conan informed, and bowed as an afterthought. ‘Majesty.’

As much as Tory didn’t like to judge a book by its cover, she didn’t like this man. He had the look of an elitist snob about him. His fair hair, skin and pale blue eyes would have made him rather attractive had he not been sporting such a sour expression. Tory suspected that his face might crack if he smiled.

‘Can I assist thee in some way?’ Conan inquired, maintaining his distance.

‘Perhaps.’ Tory considered how best to phrase her question. ‘The alliance was informed today that Aurelius Caninus will soon be handing over the rulership of Gwent to his son, Conan. And as an advisor to Aurelius, I thought that perhaps thee might be able to tell us something of our new ally’s character?’

A slight smirk crossed Conan’s face, believing as he did that the great messenger of a supposed Goddess was fooled. So much for otherworldly powers, he thought, looking back to the goings on around the fires. ‘Aurelius Conan will not look kindly upon thy pagan ways, Majesty, that much I can tell thee.’

‘Really?’ Tory folded her arms, immediately irked by the tone of his response. ‘And why might that be? Hast he no respect for the beliefs of others?’ Tory sensed the anger building within him, and suddenly regretted that she’d chosen to wear a dress this evening.

‘What could such an orgy have to do with the pursuit of spiritual perfection and oneness with the Almighty?’ As soon as the statement left his lips, Conan knew that he betrayed the Briton identity that he had assumed; he must divert the Queen’s attention before she questioned him about his religious preferences, for he remembered little of the native beliefs. ‘Look.’ He pointed to a young lad who was vanquishing a woman at least ten years his senior. ‘The corruption of young boys! Why, that lad couldn’t be more than fourteen years on this earth.’

Tory looked twice, realising she knew the lad in question. He was Calin Brockwell’s eldest son. ‘Please excuse me a moment, Sir Eldred.’ Tory headed down to reprimand the Prince. ‘Bryce!’

Bryce cringed as the sound of his Sensei’s voice registered in his brain. He let go of the willing maiden that he’d spent half the night wooing, and resigned himself to the fact that he’d blown it. He should have lured her into the darkness of the fields sooner. As he watched the Queen of Gwynedd stride down towards him, Bryce admired her beauty — what a shame that she wasn’t the woman accompanying him into the fields this night.

‘Doth thy parents know thou art out here?’ she quizzed him.

‘Father dost,’ Bryce was pleased to inform.

‘But not thy mother,’ Tory clarified.

‘Hardly,’ Bryce grumbled. ‘She still believes me a virgin.’

The lad’s statement shocked Tory a little and this must have reflected in her face.

‘Ha, ha,’ Bryce chuckled breaking into a huge smile, ‘I made thee think, Sensei, did I not?’ He winked at her.

Bryce’s gall never ceased to amaze Tory, for he made no secret of the fact that he adored her, and had even informed Maelgwn that he planned to marry her as soon as the Dragon departed this earth.

‘Let the lad be.’

Tory was surprised by the instruction as Taliesin suddenly manifested beside her.

‘All due respect, High Merlin, I shall not let the lad be.’ She took Bryce by the arm, whereby he twisted his hand down to take hold of hers.

‘It be his time.’ Taliesin gently pried their hands apart, receiving more resistance from Bryce than Tory.

The tone of the Merlin’s voice let Tory know that he knew something that she did not, and so Tory complied with his wish.

‘Off with thee, boy.’ The Merlin repressed a smile as the lad could obviously not believe his luck.

‘I shall not forget this, High Merlin,’ Bryce grinned, taking hold of the maiden’s hand and making off with her.

‘Aye, that be true enough,’ he chuckled, looking back to Tory.

‘Alright, Taliesin, out with it.’ Now that they were alone, Tory’s address became less formal.

Taliesin held up a finger, putting her off a moment, and he turned to observe Aurelius Conan who had been watching Tory intently. As Taliesin took a few steps in Conan’s direction, the soon-to-be chieftain backed up and made haste back into the crowds in the inner bailey. ‘He exhibits all the fear of a pawn of Rome.’

‘Well, what dost thou expect? Thee did not have to miraculously manifest beside me,’ Tory scolded, not happy that Taliesin had fed Conan’s fear. ‘Could thee not have walked, like any normal person?’

‘The more fear of the Goddess and her people that we instil in that one, the better,’ the Merlin stated, appearing to have a bad taste in his mouth.

‘Tell me what you know,’ Tory demanded, completely unaware that Maelgwn was creeping up behind her. She gasped as her eyes were suddenly covered by his hands.

‘I have come to claim my due bounty,’ he whispered.

‘Maelgwn, please, I was just —’

‘Saying goodbye.’ Maelgwn finished the sentence for her, turning her around and bundling her onto his shoulder.

Tory realised a struggle might dampen Maelgwn’s enthusiasm, and having no desire to do that, she looked back to the Merlin to announce, ‘I want to see thee first thing on the morrow.’

‘Maybe second thing.’ Maelgwn turned back to advise the Merlin.

‘We shall see what eventuates,’ Taliesin said to himself.

In an attempt to avoid witnessing any more of the Briton’s unnatural activities, Conan shied away from the main guest area and crept back into the castle via the kitchen entrance.

‘Sir Eldred?’ Cara spied him creeping through her food preparation area, and moved to inquire as to what was amiss with him. ‘Can I fetch thee something?’

His eyes closed at the sound of her voice, for it had a warmth and joyous tone that reminded him so much of another he had loved. ‘Nothing for me.’ Conan turned to behold the Lady Cara and in the brightly-lit kitchens she appeared even more like the lovely maiden, Olivia, whose affections he had pursued in Ravenna.

Olivia, the daughter of a wealthy Roman senior, had rejected Conan’s advances because of his breeding. But here she was again, transformed into a Briton.

The Lady smelt like a field of spring flowers, and just as all his being had craved Olivia, Conan found his unsatisfied senses of touch and taste wanting to experience this woman more intimately.

‘Art thou sure … a drink perhaps.’ Cara began pouring the mead from a barrel before Conan could decline.

‘Thy smile be the greatest feast in this fortress,’ Conan wooed her, to see what kind of reaction he’d get. ‘I retire to my bed a content and happy man.’ He bowed and made to leave.

‘What a lovely thing to say.’ Cara was flattered. After ten years of marriage such comments from her husband were rare. Vortipor went on the theory that actions spoke louder than words.

‘Surely thou hast heard every praise to beauty that ever there was, a thousand times over?’ Conan turned to face her and slowly backed up a few steps. Would she pursue him?

‘Not a thousand times.’ She forced a smile and looked back to her preparations.

As she didn’t really seem all that enthusiastic about going back to work, Conan suggested, ‘Hast thou seen the fires, Lady?’

Cara shook her head. ‘Too much to do.’

‘I think thou dost deserve a break.’ Conan offered her his arm to escort her down.

As charming as this young knight was, didn’t he realise that it would be highly inappropriate for her to attend the fires with anyone but Vortipor? ‘My husband shall come for me soon enough,’ she declined politely, moving back into the main kitchen where servants abounded.

He longed to ask Cara how such a flower as she had ended up married to a rogue ruler like Vortipor. She didn’t seem entirely happy in her role as the first lady of Dyfed and she certainly deserved better than to be ravaged so roughly in public.

Conan began to fancy that he could take the Lady Cara away from all this. He much preferred Ravenna anyway, and never had any intention of staying in this godforsaken part of the world. He would rule Gwent Is Coed; he just planned to do it from as far away as possible. A conquest or two before I go would be desirable, however … and to return to Ravenna victorious, with a beautiful heathen convert, would certainly impress.

‘The Dragon be watching thee.’

The caution started Conan and he turned to find the boy who’d been pestering him earlier.

‘Nothing escapes the Dragon’s eyes, Sir Eldred.’

The boy accentuated the name, as though he knew it was a falsehood. He had the look of the Dragon about him, dark hair, dark eyes, dark presence. It made Conan shudder to be near the child, and having seen all that he cared to, he made for his father’s chambers without further delay.

2

Fort of Fairies

Months passed before Tory saw a merlin again, and even then it wasn’t Taliesin.

‘Selwyn!’ Tory raced to embrace the wandering Druid, whom she had not seen for over a year. ‘What brings thee home to Gwynedd?’

‘Unfortunately, a concern, Majesty. I wish it could be otherwise.’ He humbled himself in the wake of her hug, thankful for the mothering comfort that only she gave him. ‘This man be from the camp of Aurelius Conan.’ He motioned to a soldier, quietly awaiting an audience by the door. ‘And what he hast to say will be of interest to thee.’

Maelgwn entered the west wing gallery and, upon sighting Selwyn, slapped his hands, overjoyed. ‘Praise the Goddess, a real harpist.’

Selwyn bowed deeply to his King, as did the soldier by the door.

‘Why all the long faces?’ Maelgwn’s good mood waned, along with his pace.

‘If I may, Majesties …’ The soldier came forward to tell his tale. ‘I am from the camp of Aurelius Conan, and although he shall rule Gwent Is Coed before long, I feel that my first allegiance be to the Goddess and her

Reviews for Chronicle of Ages

[ashroc · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Not as good as the first trilogy

[biblioselman · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Traci Harding returns to The Ancient Future Trilogy which ended with the 'Chosen' leaving Earth for the further reaches of space. Earth must follow its own path for a time while the Gods battle elsewhere. Noah, storyteller and chronicler, tutors the children born after colonization and must explore the past to fill in the gaps in his written histories. Tory, Maelgwyn and Rhun recall their life and times in ancient Britain when Maelgwyn reigned as High King of the Britons and Tory was a student of time travel and immortality under Taliesin. Rhun became King of Gwynned after Maelgwyn. When Vortipor, High King of the Britons, dies, there is a bloody 4-day skirmish over who should succeed him. Sir Bryce is killed in the action and Rhun is forced to abdicate. Noah finds himself on a celestial journey through the ethers, space and time as the missing years in his Chronicle of Ages unfold.