Chaos: Epic Fantasy in Dark Ages Britain: The Penllyn Chronicles, #7

By Troy A. Hill

Originally published as "A Dance of Chaos". 

 

A trove of silver blades, and a Royal summons

 

Penllyn's captured silver blades make Maria more than nervous. Silver blades hurt her too. They are one of the few weapons that can kill her. And she's the chosen champion of Britannia, the one who wields Arthur's sword. Only magic or silver can stop their enemies, or stop Maria. And Penllyn is casting a trove of silver weapons. 

 

Big changes are in store for both Penllyn and Meirionnydd. Changes that attract the attention of enemies long forgotten. Maria is one of the few who have both the skills, the magic to protect their people. She's the only one with undead speed and strength needed to protect her friends. The new threats stretch even her unique abilities.

 

If they can recast those blades and arm the fighters in time to protect their people…

When word arrives that royalty requests Gwen, Seren and Maria to attend an audience, what news will shift their plans? What could be so dire to involve the Fae Queen herself?

 

Chaos is the seventh book in this Epic Dark Fantasy series. If you like rich historical settings, a diverse cast of characters, and a dash of snarky humour, then you'll love Troy A. Hill's captivating series.

 

This series includes:

The author has combined the Cup of Blood and the Penllyn Chronicles series into one series. The books have been rebranded with new covers and titles, but the story is still the same.
 

Books in the series are:

Preludes

Blood

Soul

Blink

Whisper

Shadows

Chaos

Sovereign * Coming 2024

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troy A. Hill
• Release date: Nov 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9798215819111

Troy A. Hill

I was not fortunate enough to have been born to Welsh parents. Instead, my melting-pot American roots run to both Scotland and Germany. I did, however, find a nice American girl with solid Scottish ancestry to marry. My interest in Fantasy literature began as an offshoot of reading Science Fiction. One of the first fantasy novels I read was Robert A. Heinlein's Glory Road. From there, I graduated to J.R.R. Tolkien. Then I discovered the works of David Eddings, Glen Cook, Laurell K. Hamilton and R.A. Salvatore.
 When I decided to begin a career in writing, Hamilton's Anita Blake series, as well the works of R.A. Salvatore's Drizzt series made me want to combine vampires and dark fantasy along with a historical setting. I chose to explore Arthurian mythology.

Book preview

1

THE CRUCIBLE

W ill it work? Can we unmake the magical blade?

I do not know, Lord Cadoc, Guto the smith said. He waved at where Gwen and Seren were inspecting the thick stone and mortar construction. The new mortar yer father has commissioned may hold up to the heat. I cannot be sure it’s enough…

My sister and Lady Gwen can generate much heat, Cadoc said. Usually with just a glare or a stern glance.

Emlyn, next to him, allowed the hint of a smile to creep back into his cheeks. It was gone in a flash, but it was enough that I saw his old Neirin personality shine through for an instant.

Seren looked at him, a finger out for a scolding. Instead she stuck her tongue out at him and turned back to finish the inspection. Cadoc laughed. Emlyn’s eyes still had a touch of his Neirin spark. He was here to watch the potential for the unmaking of one of his precious silver blades. A seax, not a sword. He would not allow Seren and Guto to experiment on more than one of the blades until they proved they knew the process of unmaking and remaking the magic-infused silver metal.

If it weren’t for Mair’s cold feet, Bleddyn said, we wouldn’t even be trying to get the concrete made. Unfortunately, we’re having to rediscover the art of making mortar and concrete. The masons, who are used to shaping and piling stones, didn’t even know they could mix sand and lime to make this mortar. He pointed at the piles of snow around the base of the hill on which Caer Penllyn sat. At least with the furnace you’ve built, it doesn’t have to last a lifetime. I hope your furnace, mortar or not, won’t crack in the chill.

I’ve fired many a furnace in the winter, milord, Guto replied. We’ve warmed this furnace gradually over three days. I’ve only added the black glow-rock this morning.

Three young men, smith’s apprentices, worked the bellows off to either side of the furnace. The heat was not bad yet. I sat on a camp chair with my feet an arm’s length from the opening in the front of the large round furnace. For once, this winter my feet felt warm. Today wasn’t a cold day. Chilly, but neither wet nor frigid.

This may hold up, Gwen said. She and Seren stood. We can find no obvious faults, even searching with our magical senses.

Do you want me to add more fuel, milady?

If you would, goodman, Gwen said. Place the mould first. If we get this hot enough to melt the silver blade, it would be a shame to waste the effort for a puddle of slag at the bottom of the furnace.

Add more glow-stones, lads. Guto waved to his apprentices. One began to shovel the black rock into the opening of the furnace. More youths manned the other two bellows, five in all. I stood and moved my chair back. Without a magical shield, the fire was about to become unbearable up close. Cadoc and Bleddyn, wrapped in furs, had opened their cloaks and removed their thick gloves. Despite the comfort of the fire, they both eyed the fire with looks of concern.

How is Caerwyn? I asked Cadoc.

Much better when Seren came for me yesterday, he said. His lungs are strong enough that he likes to ride along the cliffs by the old caer at Tal y Garreg when the weather is warm.

Good, Bleddyn added. My friend has been declining faster that I had hoped. I’d rather he stay around and give you more instruction and insight before you take over his role.

There is little you and Caerwyn haven’t taught me about running a cantref, Cadoc said. You are correct, though, he knows far more than I ever will about how Meirionnydd works. He could stay another decade, and I still wouldn’t know what he does.

I felt the same way when Emlyn returned and told me that Gather was dead, Bleddyn said. Behind him, Guto waved for the young men at the bellows to quicken their pace.

The heat from the furnace reached out and slapped us. We all took a step or two back, except for Seren and Gwen. They both crouched behind the furnace, their hands extended around the stones.

What exactly are they doing? Cadoc asked.

Seren has set a magical shield to block the heat, so she and Gwen can be close, I said.

I think I see a ripple in the air, Bleddyn said. And around the bellows, too.

That was Gwen’s idea, I said. After we set a bellows and apprentice to smoking this fall, she thought it wise to protect them.

Is there a reason that they don’t shield the entire furnace and keep all the heat in? Cadoc asked. That might help the blade melt.

Seren and Guto spent several days discussing that idea, I said.

Bleddyn nodded agreement. He had sat through several hours of back and forth between Guto, the masons, and Seren.

Gwen can’t contain the heat inside her magical wall, I continued. Some has to leak out. The larger the area contained, the more Gwen has to work to maintain the shield. Even then, Guto is afraid the furnace won’t hold under the heat. He wants somewhere for the new heat from their magic to escape.

Seems like a waste, Cadoc added and shrugged.

If only we could get the mix right for the concrete, Bleddyn said. Water and sand, we have plenty of. The concrete is the elusive bit. The masons are trying to recover a lost art the Romans took with them when they left Britain.

At least my desire for warm feet is keeping your masons busy, I said. Has Heilyn gotten his monks to find any references in their books?

He’s sending monks around to other monasteries, Bleddyn said. His own piles of manuscripts don’t have any references to what we need.

We stood and watched Seren and Gwen concentrate on the fire for several moments. Guto prowled the edge the furnace. He’d clear his throat, then motion to Seren when she glanced at him. Her shield encircled the furnace.

We’re ready, dearest, Gwen sent.

Excuse me, I said. They’ve finally decided I’m useful for something.

I stood behind my sisters of magic and placed a hand on each of their shoulders.

Open yourself to the magic, Gwen said. I’ll pull what we need. Seren will assist and keep her senses on the silver blade to trace the enchantment on it.

I did as requested. Of all of us, I was the most magical of creatures, being undead, but the least able to manipulate the magic of the goddess. The best I could usually manage was to light up my blades with it, although I could channel a lot of it when the occasion demanded. That’s how I drove the ancient death cloud out of Dunstan’s corpse last autumn. I pulled in an obnoxious amount of the energy of the goddess, then released it through the Sword of Light, or Arthur’s sword. I did that once to drive it from Dunstan and another time to finally kill the cloud. Or so we hoped.

Now your energy, dearest, Gwen sent. I’ll mix our feeds and let Seren do the rest.

A mental nod was my contribution to the conversation. I understood the concept, but not how they’d execute all of this. Gwen was skilled in channelling large amounts of magic. Seren’s skills lay in the fine nuances of seeing and manipulating.

My role? When I wasn’t acting as a reservoir of even more magic for Gwen to pull from, I just worried about who I had to stick my swords into next. Right now, Fadog was even with Brother Twm on that list. Whatever Yellow Eyes was, he occupied Twm now.

However, as Bleddyn was fond of saying, Fadog was Fadog. No one in the world seemed more appropriate to have a deep discussion with my swords than the former lord of Fadog. He was an all-around back-stabbing pain in the arse.

Dearest! Concentrate, Gwen scolded. Your thoughts are creating surges.

Sorry. I was thinking of having a pointed discussion with Ffransys of Fadog.

That’s enough to cause all of us to have surges in our power, Seren added. She turned her attention back to the blaze. Her thoughts directed Gwen’s push of divine energy around the furnace. The heat of the fire danced white hot in the surrounding air. Had it not been for the magical shield they maintained, I would have needed to back away from the blaze. Even with the shield, I wanted to drop my cloak due to the heat.

Sweat beaded on both Gwen and Seren’s faces as they worked to push the energy even hotter. The fire flickered above the top of the stone chimney. It was as tall as Cadoc, the flames as white as Caerwyn’s hair. The little hair he had left.

Gwen increased her pull from me. Until then, she’d only used a little of what I could draw from the land. We’d used the concept of a waterfall often, but the source of the waterfall reminded me of a wide river. Where we drew our power from was where the flow fell off a broad ledge in the preternatural world. The wide and powerful tumble gave us each a torrent of energy.

Although I had no direct way of measuring the flow we each maintained, Seren’s seemed lighter than what Gwen or I pulled. What surprised me was that my link seemed even larger than Gwen’s. She was the part of our trio who could manipulate the largest amounts of the goddess’s magic. Yet I, the undead magical creature, had the ability to draw far more than she.

Gwen kept her eyes closed as she concentrated on the fire. Seren did likewise. I watched both of them and looked across at the men. Guto had his leather apron, mask, and gloves on, with long tongs in hand.

Bleddyn and Cadoc both stood wide-eyed, mouths open. Each held a hand up to shield their eyes from the white glow of the furnace. Emlyn stood nearby with a half smile behind his raised hand. All of them had taken several steps back from the inferno.

Ah! Seren sent. "I see the pattern of the spell used to make the⁠—"

A loud crack sizzled in the air. Then another. The light of the blaze flashed at me. I clenched my hands into fists and pushed back with my legs, dragging Gwen and Seren with me. We landed in a heap near the cliff face, a good dozen paces away from the furnace. A blast of intense heat slammed us, and then Seren got her shield back in place.

Sorry, I sent. Didn’t mean to disturb your concentration. I just didn’t want to be under the rocks when they collapsed.

Gwen spread power around the fire and created another heat shield to protect the others from the remains of the fire. The rocks of the crumbled furnace, half collapsed, still glowed red in places. The crucible, on which the silver seax of the Witch Hunters still sat, seemed undamaged by the broken furnace.

Thank you, dearest, Gwen sent. She had landed on top of me, with Seren sprawled across her. Gwen gave me a kiss on the cheek before she stood.

Pull the seax out, Guto, Seren called. Her magical senses pushed back into the blaze. I felt a surge from her.

Got it!

Guto grabbed the blade with his tongs. Bleddyn whistled in astonishment as the smith stepped back.

An intricate latticework of lines, more complicated than any of the Celtic artistic designs that Iolo carved, now glowed on the seax’s surface. This was one of the long seaxes. As long as any Cymry sword. Thankfully the Witch Hunters had preferred to enchant longer blades than most Saxons carried. Fighting with a long seax took different techniques than fighting with a sword. But if they had to switch to the silver weapons, the added reach of the longer seax would help someone who had trained with swords.

Seren’s energy pulsed. The men would not see it, but Gwen and I sensed it. The glowing pattern on the silver blade darkened.

I locked it into the surface, Seren sent.

What is that? Cadoc asked.

We all gathered around the anvil where Guto laid the blade. Seren waved him off as he grabbed his hammer.

The spell, she said. We might have broken the furnace, but we found the pattern the Witch Hunter wizards used to enchant and make the blades. Give me some time, and I should be able to unravel it.

Which means? Bleddyn asked.

She can unmake the blade and let the metal flow, Emlyn said. Can you duplicate it and lock the silver into new shapes like swords?

If I understand the spell enough to unmake it, then I can remake it, Seren said.

It will be good to get these made into swords our men are skilled with, Emlyn added, then glanced at Seren. Both she and Gwen had their eyes closed again. Iolo enchanted his whisper amulets, the magical Celtic symbols he carved, so whoever broke one could send a message to both Gwen and Seren. I guessed they were listening to an incoming message.

Iolo had tried to include me in the alerts that came in when someone snapped an amulet. Something about my undead nature, however, blocked his magic.

Seren kept her eyes closed and swallowed. Gwen pulled her regal persona, that of Gwenhwyfar, former queen, to the forefront. She stood straight and tall and turned towards Cadoc.

Lady Meirionnydd urgently requests your presence, Lord Regent. Her father died in a fall today.

2

TAL Y GARREG

Gwen and I escorted Cadoc into the village at the base of Meirionnydd’s Tal y Garreg stronghold. Mists shrouded the tall tower at the top of the hill, as though the hillside was in mourning at the death of Lord Meirionnydd.

Lord Cadoc, a voice called as we strode out of the woods at the edge of the village.

Cefin, Cadoc called to the man. My wife?

Inside the keep, Lord Ca— Regent… Lady Enid… er… Meirionnydd sits with her mother. The man stumbled with the titles. With the loss of their lord, the titles moved to the heirs. Cadoc reached out and grabbed Cefin’s arm and pulled him in for a hug.

We’ll all need some time to adjust to these new titles, Cadoc said.

Lord Cefin was Caerwyn’s younger cousin, and penteulu of Meirionnydd. He looked much like his cousin. Almost as tall as Cadoc, with a disappearing ring of hair. Unlike the monks, the men of Meirionnydd’s ruling family didn’t have to shave the tops of their heads. The penteulu carried a typical Celtic sword on his hip and wore a leather vest and bracers. His blue cloak, in the color of Meirionnydd, was closed but with the hood back.

What happened? Cadoc asked. He motioned for the penteulu to lead us into the small town. Around us, people hushed and bowed towards Cadoc. Many of them already had a white strip of cloth tied around their arms. White, the color of mourning in Cymru.

Our usual ride this morning, Cefin said. Caerwyn was fond of the view up by the cliffs. Said the salt air from the sea helped clear his lungs. Unfortunately, he rode to get a view from the cliff while we checked the tower for young’uns. He took a tumble, and we only heard his yell.

Just you and he, my lord Cefin? Gwen asked.

No, Lady Gwenhwyfar, the penteulu added. We took two men with us. Since we don’t maintain a guard up at the tower, I like to have some extra swords along in case we find a squatter in the tower. It’s rare, but we find a few each year. Usually a boat crew looking to get out of a storm or some children who need reminded not to trespass on their lord’s property without permission. For the travelers, Caerwyn usually brought them down, gave them a hot meal and a chair by the fire until the storms moved through. He wished them well and sent them on their way.

And the children? I asked. Around us, even the young were silent and deferential. As though a sadness had settled across the land and the town.

There always be a stable or animal pen that needs mucking out, he said with a grin. After that, we’d take them back to their parents. Funny thing, many of their fathers, and a few of their mothers, had taken the same punishment when they were little.

Caerwyn isn’t the type to get that close to the edge on his own, Cadoc said. But I remember an outcropping of rock there…

That’s where he liked to stand every day we visited, Cefin added. He’d face the wind and fill his lungs for several moments. Said the only way he’d fall was if the rock itself broke loose.

Did it?

No, my lord. Cefin shook his head. We heard a shout and ran out. By the time we made it to the gate on that side, he was gone. We had a look over the ledge and didn’t see anything except Caerwyn below on the rocks. One of his boots came off when he hit, and his sword bounced out of its scabbard. We rode down and made a litter out of some timber. Then took him to the keep.

By now we had reached the keep, which was at the far end of the town. One of the Meirionnydd guards straightened and opened the door.

Your wife and Lady Nesta hold vigil inside, Cefin said. We’ve taken Lord Caerwyn to the abbey at Lady Nesta’s order. They’ll prepare him for the funeral.

Gwen and I let Cadoc lead us into the darkened hall. It was almost as large as Caer Penllyn’s great hall. A ring of stones in the center, stacked as high as my knees and filled with sand, blazed away with a sizable fire. Not near as warm as Guto’s furnace. Even with the fire, however, the great hall seemed chilled. Without Caerwyn’s warm smile and his words of welcome, this building reflected the sombre tone of the town outside.

Lord Regent, Lady Nesta called, her tone formal. Welcome to your hall. Her hand raised a cloth, and she dabbed at her eyes. Enid stood, her eyes and cheeks glistening with tears. Cerri and Macs, their children, brightened when they saw their father, but they quickly dropped back into the sullen mood of their parents. Both stood near Nesta, gripping her hands.