Merlin's Blade (23 page)

Colvarth's old voice softened, sorrow emanating from the pulsing harp strings. And even as he slowed, the High King increased his pacing.

The notes fell away into silence. Uther stopped his pacing, but still no one spoke.

Surely
, Merlin thought,
the druidow and the Stone can be dealt with before bloodshed such as this occurs
.

Colvarth broke the silence. “These things, my king, may be … taken figuratively. As this ballad is ordained for this telling, it is … possible the people in it represent persons here. Surely Vuron the druid would represent … Mórganthu.”

“Then who am I?” Uther inquired. “Tell me, Colvarth. Set before me the plain meaning of your riddle.”

“I intend no … riddle. But as you, Uther, are a Christian, you could be Gerrent … maybe Dynan … or maybe Gwinear. The ballad does not say, but the … bards before me have passed on the lore that Gwinear was an … Eirish prince before coming to this land.”

“Then who is King Tevdar?” Uther asked. “Who dares slay Christians?”

“These things are … mysteries known only to God. Perhaps there is no one in such a role. Surely there is … no king greater than thee on the Isle of the Mighty, and —”

The tent flap opened, interrupting Colvarth, and a man stepped through.

“Vortigern!” Uther exclaimed. “My battle chief rises from the dead.”

“Do not mock me, my lord.” Vortigern said as he stamped his feet and shook water from his cloak all over Merlin.

“We hold a council of war, and where have you been?” Uther demanded. “Your shoes and breeches are soaked. Did you wade for your water?”

“Me?” Vortigern replied. “Sure, I went for water … and found Sethek's horse stuck in the mud.”

“Then Sethek should have gotten it out.”

Vortigern shrugged. “He was fishing.”

The High King walked up to Vortigern. “You were summoned
here
. Attend your duties in the future, or you will not hold them for long.”

“Yes … my lord.” But Merlin caught a subtle contempt in the battle chief's voice.

“Sit down, Vortigern.” Uther turned and continued pacing. “Colvarth just finished a ballad, and I was about to hear from my new adviser, Merlin.”

As Vortigern found a place beside Vortipor, someone threw a few more logs on the fire, and all chatter subsided.

Merlin felt every eye looking to him.

“As the solitary resident of Bosventor present, Merlin, you know better of the druidow' recent dealings. Tell me. Of all the advice given, which is the wisest?”

Now it was Merlin's turn to pause as he realized his words had the ability to sway the decision of the High King … and possibly
result in bloodshed. Although he had to speak, the weight of his words pressed upon his tongue.

“My lord, if I may be so bold — and no offense is meant — none of the advice your war chieftains have given would remedy the present troubles.”

Protests arose from the warriors, but Uther silenced them and told Merlin to proceed.

“The villagers are not the root of the problem. My advice to you is to heed Colvarth's ballad, for it has revealed the true source of your trouble.”

“The druidow,” Uther stated.

“No, my lord.”

“Explain.”

“Do not the druidow follow Mórganthu?”

Uther must have looked to Colvarth, for the old man answered in the affirmative.

The High King paced again. “I will have Mórganthu slain. It is simple, what you suggest.”

“But that is not my advice, lord,” Merlin said. “The real question is whom does Mórganthu follow?”

“Is there another druid greater than Mórganthu?” Uther asked. “I will have him
and
Mórganthu executed.”

“In Colvarth's ballad, Vuron did not want his pagan gods to lose power. But Mórganthu now follows his pagan gods through the Stone, my lord.”

Uther stopped pacing. “The Stone? Can this be? It is just a rock, strangely inspiring and amazing though it is.”

“This is a mystery, my lord, but the Stone is no mere rock. Somehow it lives, plots, and hates. And it desires to enchant not just Bosventor, but every Briton.”

Exclamations of surprise burst from those around the fire.

“All of the
Britons
?” Uther asked as he knelt before Merlin and looked him in the face. Merlin blinked at the smell of mead as Uther's words softened. “How do you know these things?”

“I have touched the Stone, my lord. The Stone hates the Christ whom I serve, and so it tried to slay me. Yet I live.”

“I have faced the armies of chiefs and kings, but never have I fought such evil.” Here the king lowered his voice. “Colvarth, is this beyond me?”

The bard cleared his throat. “I think not, my Lord, although … I cannot know for sure.”

“Can it be destroyed?”

Merlin had pondered this question and spoke up. “The Stone will oppose you because you claim the Christ, and Mórganthu now hates you because you slew his son. There is danger. But perhaps God sent you here at just this time to defeat it, on Beltayne before the enchantment spreads. Both strength and caution are needed, my lord, for Mórganthu has Eirish warriors in his service.”

“Warriors? How many?”

“I have personally met at least six, but I don't know their true number.” Merlin stood, and there before them all, he proclaimed, “My lord, take your men and ride to the druidow' camp. There you will find the Stone in the center of the Gorseth Cawmen. Scatter the druidow and cover the Stone with animal skins. Then take it away to be destroyed. But heed well this warning: no one should touch the Stone or look at it. To do so is perilous.”

Silence filled the tent as Uther resumed pacing back and forth.

Merlin, feeling awkard to have spoken so boldly, sat down. His face felt the heat of the fire, and he began to sweat. What would Uther do? Surely he'd reject Merlin's advice, coming from someone so young and inexperienced in matters like these.

Vortigern commented on how hungry he was and began to eat a hunk of venison. For a long while his chewing and Uther's pacing was all that could be heard.

Finally, Uther began walking around the circle, pausing now and then as if deep in thought. When he passed behind Merlin, he stopped.

Merlin held his breath, waiting for the king to speak. He wanted
to leave the council and make his way home in the rain. He had made a mistake, and now Uther would reject his service for what it was — that of a fool.

But Uther placed a hand on his shoulder. It was strong, steady, and reassuring. “This plan of yours, Merlin, this I will do.” Uther grasped Merlin's hand and bade him stand.

But Vortigern stood too and interrupted Uther. “My High King, grant me the boon of leading your men on this mission.”

“And what of me?” Uther picked a log from a pile at the edge of the tent and slammed it sparking onto the fire. “Am I infirm that I cannot —”

“I think only of the safety of my sister, your wife, as well as your children.”

“You are a fool, Vortigern! Of course I would leave some of our warriors to guard them.”

“How many would you leave?”

“Five … perhaps ten.”

“That would weaken our forces considerably. We are battling not one man but many, and there are an unknown number of Eirish warriors. Uther, listen to me. No warrior will guard your family better than you. I urge you, my lord, to stay with them in a safe place and send forth the rest of us.”

“My family is safe here … Igerna, you agree with me on this?”

Merlin did not hear a response, but Vortigern spoke for her.

“You see, my lord … my sister is concerned. It is not her habit to be so near a battle. Your children are in danger. Stay with them.”

Young feet pattered to Uther, and his two daughters clasped their father around the waist.

“Please, Tas,” Eilyne said, “don't let them hurt us!”

Uther said nothing, and Vortigern continued.

“Your heir, my lord, is worthy of your personal protection. Arthur is in grave danger, is he not?”

“I'll protect him,” Myrgwen cried. “I'll die with him if I have to.”

Uther turned. “Colvarth? What do you say?”

The bard spoke from beside Merlin. “I know not the better course, my king. This is … for you to decide.”

“Merlin,” Uther asked. “What is your opinion? Shall I go with my warriors or stay with my family?”

“My king,” Merlin said, distrust for Vortigern rising in his throat. “I stand by what I have said. You are here for a reason. Lead your men.”

“Please, oh, please, Father, don't leave us!” Myrgwen nearly shrieked.

“Vortigern … if I follow your plan, where would we go?”

Vortigern walked behind Merlin and opened the tent flap. Uther stood beside him after extricating himself from his daughters.

“There, my lord,” Vortigern said. “The island in the marsh with the old tower. The locals call it Inis Avallow.”

“Yes, the tower.” Uther opened the flap farther so he could see, and Merlin felt a chill breeze blow through his hair.

“There your family will be safe under your watch while I scatter these traitorous druidow. The men already borrowed a fishing boat from the village. You can use that to take your family across.”

“The light from the tower … Did you see it just now?” Uther asked.

“Eeeh … I saw nothing.”

“Wait … I see an entire stone fortress there,” Uther exclaimed. “The tower is just part of it! The walls grew out of the ground before my eyes, with beautiful stonework surrounded by blooming orchards … and there is a man in the window beckoning me.”

“My Uther,” Igerna said from his side — she had walked there so silently Merlin hadn't heard her. “I see nothing but the ruined tower. You have been drinking too much —”

“I have not. There — do you not see him?”

“There is no such man,” Igerna said. “Come, sit down by the fire again.”

“No. Do not speak like that. You have made it fade from my vision. But the light is still flashing … from the window there at the top. Vortigern, surely you see this?”

“I do not, my lord.”

“What is this I have seen? Surely something is there! I had desired to explore its ruins before, but now I must go.”

Merlin felt uneasy with the king's tone. What had come over Uther? Had the Stone enchanted him without Merlin knowing?

Vortigern coughed. “My lord, you could explore the ruins … yes … while I lead the warriors and do as your young adviser …
Merlin
… has suggested. Just after the evening meal, before dark. I will take the men to raid the druid camp after you are all safely on the island.”

Again Merlin heard a hint of disdain in his voice, but Uther didn't seem to notice.

The High King's hand found Merlin's shoulder. “It is a good plan.”

Merlin bit down on his tongue, unconvinced.

A
light rain was falling when Merlin left the council. As he tapped his way toward home to collect his belongings, according to Uther's command, he thought about the plan the High King had chosen. No matter how he turned it over in his mind, he couldn't make peace with how his own recommendation had been changed by Vortigern.

Logically, what Vortigern said made sense. Having Uther protect his family on Inis Avallow freed up many warriors, who could spread out and help disperse the druidow. And what better place than the island in the marsh?

But somehow it sat bitter in his mouth, like a blackberry plucked green from the bushes south of the smithy.

And why did Uther prefer exploring the ruins of the old tower while enemies raised their scornful heads? If only that hallucination
hadn't come over the man, he might have explored the ruins
after
the Stone's destruction.

As much as Merlin wanted to protest, the High King had made his decision. But what of the Stone? Would Vortigern capture it and bring it to Uther to be destroyed? Some inner voice warned Merlin against trusting the battle chief, and his concerns about the man grew.

When the High King had sent Merlin off, he'd ordered his newest adviser to report at first light, ready for travel. As if everything would be settled by morning! Merlin wondered why Uther had even asked his opinion, since he seemed so set on ignoring the facts before him.

In this frustrated mood, Merlin had to find his way south from Uther's camp. Not a hard task when he could navigate by the position of the sun, but with these dismal clouds, he had to be careful to stay on the narrow path that wended between the mountain and the marsh.

Sure, Vortipor had offered a ride on the back of his horse, but Merlin had refused. If Vortigern smelled of pride, then Vortipor reeked of it. “Need a ride on my stallion? You might fall in the marsh and drown otherwise.” And he had laughed.

About halfway to the village, Merlin heard a woman call his name.

He turned, and her voice called again, somewhat breathless. “Merlin! I've been praying … since you went off with the High King … waiting for you to come back.”

He smiled and held out his hands in greeting. “Natalenya!”

She ran to him and, to his great surprise, fell into his arms, sobbing into his tunic.

For a moment Merlin stood there, stunned. Why would she weep? Why come to
him
? He thought his heart might leap out of his chest.

“My father betroths me to Vortipor tonight. To be married in
Junius
.”

Vortipor? How could Natalenya marry that foul-mouthed, cruel … “That's terrible,” he said and instantly realized his mistake, for her crying increased until her arms shook.

Merlin tentatively cradled her head. The rain-fresh smell of her hair filled his senses.

“Unless you
want
to marry him …”

She pulled back a little, and even with his poor eyesight, he thought he saw a fierce light in her eyes. “Never!”

Merlin was taken aback. Maybe he wasn't the only one who disliked Vortipor. But did she mean it? The man was, after all, someone important. “He's the battle chieftain's son —”

“I don't care.”

A weight lifted that he hadn't entirely realized was there.

“But what can
I
do?”

“Help me!”

“How? I can't sway your father.”

“Hide me. Don't make me go back. He's not himself to make a decision like that.”

“They'll hunt for you.”

She buried her face against his chest once more. “Not if I
couldn't
marry Vortipor.” And her tears soaked into Merlin's tunic right over his heart.

“Natalenya … you'd have to be married for that to happen.”

She wrapped her arms around him and held to him tightly. “Yes.”

The word struck him with greater force than if he'd been hit by the Druid Stone's lightning. She couldn't mean she wanted to marry him.

Hope and joy flared within him, only to drown in an ocean of frustration over his blindness. He was nothing — a glorified beggar at Uther's table. If the king's house didn't bestow enough provisions for him, could he subject her to a life of toil? His heart beat like a galloping horse, and he wanted to shout, but his words slipped out one by one, like dry pebbles dropping to the ground.

“Natalenya, I love you, I do. But I can't guarantee I can provide for you.”

She looked up at him. Touched his scarred face. “I don't care. We'll find a way.”

Yet the true reality of their situation pierced him like a deadly arrow. “Vortipor …” He pulled back, shaking his head. “I serve the High King now, and his son after him. I'll be near them for years and years. Maybe for the rest of my life.”

“What do you mean? You serve your father.”

The tremor in her voice nearly undid him, but he forced himself to speak. “No. He pledged me to Uther.” He paused, and a realization struck him. “But you were there!”

“When?”

“Just before you swore fealty with your mother.”

“We'd only just arrived.” She fell silent, and he felt her soft hand slipping into his.

Merlin didn't know what to say.

“I never dreamed you'd serve Uther,” she said at last.

“I leave tomorrow.”

“You can't.”

“I've sworn my service. If you came with me … If we were …” Again he shook his head. “You'd never escape Vortipor and his father.”

Natalenya pulled her hand free and turned away. “You don't want me.”

“That's not true —”

“You're afraid of Vortipor. I understand.”

“No —”

“You'd rather I marry another.”

“Natalenya, I —”

Merlin stopped. He didn't have the words. Why had his father pledged him to serve Uther anyway? His blindness, always his blindness. It ruined his life and sucked away his joy, causing even his blessings to become deep sorrow. If only he'd known of Natalenya's predicament and her feelings yesterday, he would have told his father to recant his promise. He wanted to tell her how much joy she'd bring him, but his words turned to ashes in his throat.

“Don't worry. I'll figure something out.” Her voice trembled.

He reached out, but she'd stepped too far away. “Maybe there's another way,” he said.

“Maybe.”

“Natalenya?”

“Yes?” She turned back to him, but her voice sagged with weariness where before it had sprung with hope.

“Stay. I'll help. But first I need
your
help to destroy the Stone.”

“The Stone.” She stepped closer but didn't take his outstretched hand. “Very well, Merlin. Let us see to this Stone.”

Merlin wanted to ask about the aloofness in her voice, but thought better of it. “I'll explain my thoughts as we walk to the smithy. Hopefully my tas is still there.”

The rain stopped falling as they walked down the path. Eventually they entered a wooded area where the thick foliage darkened the already-dull light. The underbrush had almost taken over as well, and fronds of unseen bushes groped at Merlin's legs. From their right, where the soggy smell of the marsh floated through the trees, a flock of crows began to caw loudly.

Merlin wanted to explain his plan to Natalenya as they walked, but he felt awkward and focused instead on trying to keep his pace even. As the path narrowed even more, her steps came closer, and he feared tangling his feet with hers.

Something rustled a bush ahead of them, and the crows amplified their calls.

Merlin stopped. “Did you hear that?”

“What?”

The sound faded, and with it even the crows ceased their rancor so that the woods became silent as death.

“Let's keep moving.”

Sweat formed on Merlin's brow, and he wanted her to take his hand and guide him as they ran down the path to escape the woods. But he
had
to keep his composure in front of her. It was probably just a squirrel or some feral cat in search of its prey. The
worst part of it was that in such dim light, Merlin's eyes were almost useless.

Now the sound came from behind them, and Merlin stopped. Willing his pulse to stay even, he turned to listen.

Natalenya sucked in her breath. “I heard it.”

And there, in the mottled light, Merlin peered at a dark shape slipping from the bushes.

Natalenya screeched and grabbed his arm. “A wolf!”

Fear blazed in Merlin's chest as he held out his staff to Natalenya. “Take this and get behind me.” He snatched his dirk from its scabbard, his heart was pounding so hard that he could barely hear the slow, stealthy approach of the creature before him.

“There are two now. They're —” But her words were cut short by a scream. “Merlin!”

He tried to turn and help her, but the wolf in front of him snarled as it leaped in the air. The shadow fell upon Merlin so fast that he had no time to do anything but raise his left arm to ward the gaping jaws.

Why did they keep hunting him? There were plenty of young deer in the woods, especially in springtime.

The wolf's teeth ripped into his elbow, sending a shock of pain that stunned him. The beast was heavy, and it pulled Merlin down and forward until he fell into the bracken.

Letting go, the wolf snapped at his throat, its stiff claws on his chest.

Merlin panicked and thrust his dirk upward, but the thick fur prevented the tip from penetrating deeply.

The wolf pulled back and yelped but then dove forward once more. It snapped at Merlin's neck, its warm saliva dripping on him.

Natalenya screamed again, and this gave Merlin a rush of strength.

He yelled and plunged his dirk into the beast's neck.

The wolf yelped as Merlin rolled its spasming body off him and then stood. To his right, he heard the whir of his staff being swung at another snarling beast.

“It has my skirt!” Natalenya cried out.

He lunged forward and tried to stab the creature, but it jerked to the side. There was a ripping sound as material tore away.

Merlin lunged again, but the wolf retreated and then began growling.

“Run!” Merlin said, holding out his hand.

“Where?”

“The smokehouse!”

Natalenya seized his hand, and together they sprinted down the path. But Merlin could hear growls behind them.

“How many?” he asked.

“Four!”

They burst into the open as the woods fell away from the path. But still the wolves pursued them. Merlin's scars stung as flashes of memory burned in his mind.

“How much farther?” Merlin asked, gasping.

“Almost there.”

A wolf ripped into Merlin's cloak. He pulled the hood over his head, threw it at the beast, and tried to keep up with Natalenya.

“Merlin, run!”

The smokehouse roof appeared like a dark splotch on his right, and he could smell the smoldering fire that preserved racks of fish in its back room. They ran toward it, but he forgot the steepness of the slope leading down to it, and he stumbled and rolled.

Natalenya frantically banged on the door. “Megek!” she yelled, but the old man who smoked the fish didn't answer.

Merlin regained his footing and crouched, ready to use his dirk. Three of the wolves appeared over the hillside and hesitated before two of them slunk off to the side, perhaps to circle around and attack from behind. Were they that intelligent, or was some evil directing them?

“Merlin, I can't reach the latch!” Natalenya called.

Merlin turned just as the blur of a wolf jumped at her back. She shrieked and went down.

Only a few feet away, Merlin sprang at the creature, being careful to differentiate the gray fur from Natalenya, and thrust his blade into its back. The blade slid off a rib and sliced deeply into the wolf's chest. Despite this, the wolf still tried to snap at Natalenya, and so Merlin stabbed it again and then threw it off.

Natalenya was crying.

“Are you hurt?”

She grabbed onto his arm with a shaking hand and pulled herself up. “Just a few scratches. I bunched up my cloak to keep him from biting me. The latch …”

Merlin reached up to find the wooden handle and pulled the string to lift the bar.

He let Natalenya slip inside first, and then he entered, banged the door shut, and dropped the bar. The room was dark and reeked of fish. Merlin suspected that Megek's barrel of guts was ripe and ready to be closed up, rolled over to the woods, and dumped. The old man had apparently finished for the day and gone home.

Natalenya caught her breath and then broke the silence. “Thank you.”

“I'm just glad you're safe. If anything happened to you, I couldn't live with myself.”

“You risked your life for me.”

Merlin gulped. “It's me they're after. If you hadn't been there to help me find my way …”

She raised her hand and touched his face. “That would have been terrible.”

Merlin reached out, and she embraced him, her tears flowing freely. Time fled away as he held her close and breathed in the smell of her rain-soaked hair.

Then a wolf began scratching at the door and sniffing. In the distance one of them howled.

Merlin released Natalenya and backed away, awkwardly aware of their situation.

“How do we get out of here?” she asked.

“We fight them.”

“We already tried that.”

“Not this way.” He oriented himself in the gloom, walked forward, and ran into a worktable. Sliding a hand along its slimy, fish-sullied edge, he made his way to the wall that cut the crennig in half. From there he found the door that led to the preserving side. It was warm to the touch, and smoke leaked through the cracks.

He tried to see what was in the room, but it was too dark. “Is there any wood here? There should be a pile —”