The Du Lac Devil: Book 2 of The Du Lac Chronicles Read online

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  THE DU LAC CHRONICLES SERIES

  “Set in the harsh landscape of 5th century Briton, The Du Lac Chronicles, Book 1 is one of the best Medieval books I’ve had the pleasure to read since The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley.”

  Princess of the Light

  “If you think this is just another Arthurian tale, you’re mistaken. It combines intrigue with suspense in the reality of the English 5th Century. This is a sit down and finish book.”

  The Drunken Druid

  “I can honestly say that this is one of the best books I have ever read as it combined many of the elements I love. It had forbidden romance, daring heroes, a road trip, court intrigue, war, sword fights and a medieval time setting with horses, knights and honour.........what more could you want?”

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  “Man this could be a TV series and I would totally watch it!”

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  Netgalley Professional Reader

  The Du Lac

  Devil

  Book 2 of The Du Lac Chronicles

  Mary Anne Yarde

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidence.

  The Du Lac Devil has a recommended reading age of 16+

  Copyright © 2016 Mary Anne Yarde

  Cover Design by BespokeBookCovers.com.

  ISBN: 1537590340

  ISBN 13: 9781537590349

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author.

  The Du Lac Devil is a work of historical fantasy and is written in British English.

  “And the great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent, who is called the devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world - he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him.”

  Revelations 12.9

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Five Years Later

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Two Months Later

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Author’s Notes

  The Du Lac Chronicles

  The Pitchfork Rebellion

  1

  AD 496 Castle Dor, Cerniw – the far South-West of Briton.

  “Hold her steady, Merton. For the love of God, I am almost done,” Alden du Lac said, as he quickly hammered a dowel into the wood, before moving carefully across the beam.

  Construction of a new fort was well under way. They had already built temporary wooden battlements, and these high wooden walls now protected the King’s Camp. Later, when they had the money, they would replace the wood with stone. This time, Castle Dor would be impregnable.

  Right now, they were concentrating on building the Great Hall. Winter was fast approaching and Alden’s first child was due any day. He wanted at least one building to be habitable, so his wife and baby would be protected from the elements, for Cerniw winters could be very cruel.

  “Don’t mind me,” Merton said, sweat breaking out on his brow as he tried to keep the piece of wood, which he currently held over his head, steady, for his brother to hammer into place. “Take all the time you need.”

  Alden continued to hammer, although Merton could have sworn that his brother had slowed down on purpose.

  “All right. You can let her go,” Alden finally said, dropping the mallet to the ground with a soft thud.

  Merton gingerly released the plank of wood and then immediately covered his head with his hands in case the wood should fall.

  “Are you being serious? It isn’t going to fall,” Alden said in annoyance. He pushed at the beam with his work-roughened hand, proving his point. A few of the wood-wrights, who were working alongside their king, smiled to each other.

  “I still have the bump on my head from the last time you said that,” Merton stated, daring a glance up. This time, it seemed the wood was going to hold. He didn’t like to admit it, but Alden was getting better at this.

  Alden threw a dowel at his brother and it hit him in the face.

  “Ouch!” Merton growled, frowning up at his brother. “What the hell was that for?”

  “MERTON,” James, the General of Alden’s army, called his name loudly as he entered the fort, and Merton turned his attention away from his brother.

  Someone pointed Merton out and James marched over to them, his strides long and his footsteps heavy.

  “Your Majesty?” James stammered, a look of horror on his face as he saw what his King was doing. He glanced at the wood-wrights. “Are you sure it is wise letting your King-”

  Alden threw a dowel at him as well.

  “He is getting better at it,” Merton said in his brother’s defence. Another dowel hit him, this time on the head. “Hey, I am defending you,” Merton complained, rubbing his head with his hand.

  “Any news from the border?” Alden asked, ignoring his brother’s complaint. James had been gone for almost a month, overseeing the kingdom’s security. They could not afford to be complacent. Cerniw would not stand against another invasion.

  “It is all quiet. And if it isn’t, we will soon know about it.”

  Alden had ordered the construction of pyres every mile or so along the border. It was a crude, but effective, early warning system. If an enemy army dared to cross into Cerniw, then the fires would be lit, one after the other. Alden prayed that this first line of defence would never be tested. He didn’t think he had the strength to face another war with Wessex.

  “Good,” Alden said, and he went back to helping his fellow craftsmen.

  “Merton, can I have a word?” James said under his breath, as he watched his King.

  “With pleasure,” Merton answered, any excuse to escape manual labour.

  “And where do you think you are going?” Alden called from the rafters when he noticed Merton walking away.

  “I’m going to see a man about a horse,” Merton replied over his shoulder as he followed James back out into the weak daylight.

  “There must be an awful lot of horses out there for you to see. You have used that excuse every day for the last sen
night to escape work. Merton, I need you here. I need your help.”

  “I won’t be long,” Merton reassured.

  “The last time you said that we didn’t see you for two days,” Alden called.

  “That wasn’t my fault,” Merton said, turning back to look at his brother and placing his hand on his heart in a gesture of honesty. “I was waylaid.”

  “No, you weren’t, we found you naked, in bed with-”

  “Now you know that is not strictly true,” Merton interrupted, his face the picture of innocence. “I was there under duress,” he shrugged in hopelessness. “You have no idea how much I suffered, and the things she made me do-”

  “I don’t want to know,” Alden interrupted, trying not to grin. “Go on, get out of here, but you better be back by sundown, Annis is cooking and I will not suffer that torment alone.”

  Merton swore under his breath. Alden must have a death wish. Why he let his wife near a cooking pot was a mystery.

  “Merton,” James said his name impatiently.

  “I am coming,” Merton said, biting back a grin as he remembered the last meal Annis had cooked. It didn’t matter what she cooked because it would look and taste like charcoal. He made a mental note to eat before he came back.

  Merton followed James out of the fort. Once there had stood a prosperous village in the shadows of Dor, but now there were only the charred remains of roundhouses. Wessex certainly knew how to destroy a kingdom — it was no wonder that everybody feared him.

  “Merton…” James stopped walking and turned to look at him, the expression on his face was grim. “We might have a bit of a problem. I thought I would come to you rather than…” James sighed deeply. Alden was his King, but at the moment, it was Merton that was ruling the country. Alden had not been himself for some time and someone had to take charge — at least for the time being. Merton was the obvious choice.

  “What is it?” Merton asked, fearing James was going to tell him about a rumour of another uprising amongst the people. The last one had been bad enough. Merton tried not to dwell on it because it only made him incensed when he did. He felt that anger now, welling up inside him. The people of Cerniw had not taken to Alden’s choice of bride. They had come for Annis on a hot summers day, not so long ago, with the glint of murder in their eyes. But they had not taken her. Instead, they paid for their treachery with their blood.

  “He has gone too far this time,” was all James said.

  Merton shook his head, not understanding. “I did tell Alden that he was more of a hindrance than a help when it comes to building, but…he just won’t listen.”

  “As if I would speak of the King in such a way,” James said sternly. James was an old man for a knight. But he was wise, very skilled and above everything else, he was loyal. James had guided Alden through the trials of kingship when he had inherited the throne at just fifteen, and when Merton came to live with Alden, James had become his swordmaster, taking over where Bastian, the General of Merton’s eldest brother’s army, had left off.

  “I am talking about Bors,” James snapped impatiently. “I want him gone. He isn’t good for the kingdom. Talk to your brother.”

  Merton wasn’t partial to the man either. And Bors was doing nothing to make himself agreeable. He had once been one of King Arthur’s knights, back in the day, and didn’t everyone know it. Bors was new to the kingdom, however…new to Cerniw. He had lived in Wessex before, but Alden owed him a favour, for Bors had helped Alden and Annis escape from that cursed kingdom. In return, Alden had offered him sanctuary. It was the least he could do. But the alliance was uneasy from the very beginning, for Bors had fought against their father, during the war with the late King Arthur. Bors was a Pendragon man through-and-through. He did not take to du Lac law readily.

  “Men come in all shapes and sizes. We do not always have to agree with them,” Merton patted James on the shoulder. “Ignore him.” Merton turned away and began to head back towards his brother.

  “He is making sport with the prisoners. I thought it was decided that we were going to sell them?”

  Merton turned swiftly back around. “He is doing what? Show me.” The prisoners were worth a great deal of money and they needed that money, for it was in very short supply.

  2

  A crowd had gathered, full of cheering spectators. There were men, women, children, old and young. Nothing excited people more than a blood sport and Merton had never really understood why that was. On a cart, there was a pile of dead bodies, one on top the other. Their clothes had been stripped from them, and they were dripping blood. The flies had started to gather, buzzing around the dead, the smell of blood sending them into a frenzy.

  Next to the cart was a woman. She was wringing her hands together in anguish, her face distorted with fear and her lips were moving in a silent prayer. The woman caught his attention, although she did not notice that she had, for she was looking desperately at the crowd.

  Merton looked to where she did. He could not see over the mass of people, so he kicked his horse forward. The animal spooked a little at the noise and the nervous agitation of the people, but when those that had gathered saw who it was, they made way for him hastily, for they had not forgotten how Merton and his brother — their King — had put down the rebellion. He stopped in the middle of the crowd, for he had a clear view.

  James rode up beside him. “You have to stop this because the bastard isn’t listening to me.”

  Bors was stood at the side of this makeshift arena, jeering one of the competitors.

  A Saxon prisoner was in the ring. He looked a little older than Merton, but not by much. His blonde hair was long, almost to the middle of his back, and his eyes, the colour of the sea, were cold with hatred. In his hand, he held a wooden sword — a child’s plaything, nothing more, and two, fully armed, Cerniw soldiers were attacking him. Whereas the Cerniw soldiers had on armour, the Saxon’s chest was bare. One of the soldiers caught the top of the prisoners arm with the tip of his blade, causing a nasty gash.

  Instead of speaking out, Merton watched as the Saxon bested both men within a space of a heartbeat. Bors entered the arena with an arrow knocked and aimed right at the prisoner’s heart, as the wounded soldiers were dragged away. The crowd started to jeer, and they threw things, anything they could find, soil, stones and rotten vegetables, at the Saxon. The man just stood there. He did not show any fear — although he did wince when a small jagged rock hit him in the face.

  “Who will fight him now? Come on. Some brave man can best this Saxon filth. The King will give a hundred gold coins to the winner.”

  “Do you see what I mean?” James said under his breath.

  Instead of answering, Merton got off his horse.

  “I’ll take the challenge,” Merton shouted, and all eyes turned to him.

  “Merton, what are you doing?” James protested. “I didn’t bring you here to fight.”

  “Then what did you bring me for?” Merton asked, glancing up at him. “You didn’t need me to stop this. You have more than enough authority.”

  “He is Alden’s guest,” James reminded him.

  “And you are his General,” Merton countered.

  “Merton,” Bors cleared his throat, surprised and embarrassed at having been caught doing something that went against a direct order from the King.

  “One hundred coins?” Merton said, tilting his head in query.

  “My Lord,” Bors began, stepping closer. “I merely meant-”

  “I hope that is going to come out of your pocket,” Merton said, interrupting him, “because I am as sure as hell, it is not coming out of Alden’s.”

  “No one can beat the bastard anyway,” Bors said, glancing back at the Saxon. “He has injured seven men already.”

  “Seven of Alden’s men have been injured?” Merton asked in disbelief. “We may need those seven if Wessex decides to counter-attack. Who the hell do you think you are?” he did not pause for Bors to answer. “Listen to me
very carefully Bors, because I only issue warnings once. I don’t care if you were a favourite of Arthur’s. In fact, I don’t care if you wiped his arse. Camelot is just a name now and Arthur is long dead, so I don’t want to hear about him anymore. You pledged yourself to my brother. Your allegiance to the past is over. If you don’t like that, then I suggest you leave. If you choose to stay, you will do well to remember this, the next time you try and override a direct order from Alden’s General, I will have your head.”

  “You don’t intimidate me,” Bors spat. Some cocky eighteen-year-old, who had not learnt how to speak to his elders and betters, would not cow him. The Du Lac’s had always thought themselves better than everyone else, but he knew. Oh yes, he knew the truth.

  “If I were trying to intimidate you, you would be down on your knees like a subservient dog by now.”

  “I apologise if a few Saxon deaths caused your stomach to turn. I shall not make that mistake again. But you listen to me — pup — if we do not kill this man, there will be a riot,” Bors stated with a sly smile. “We wouldn’t want what happened before to happen again now, would we?”

  Merton narrowed his eyes at this. “You wouldn’t have had anything to do with the uprising, would you? I know how much you dislike Annis-”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Bors answered, staring him straight in the eye as he lied. “As if I would encourage rebellion.”

  Merton didn’t believe him, but now was not the time to find out the truth. The crowd wanted blood. They wanted a fight. “I have already said I will fight him,” Merton said. “I will fight him,” he raised his voice and his fist into the air, the crowd erupted joyfully around him. One man began to chant Merton’s name, others soon took up the call, until his name became a deafening roar.

  “What are the rules?” Merton had to raise his voice to be heard over the crowd.

  “There are none. Only you can use a sharpened blade and he cannot.”

  “You don’t believe in a fair fight do you? No wonder you were for Pendragon,” Merton said as he unstrapped his sword belt. He walked back to where James was still sat astride his horse and handed him his weapons.