Merlin's Blade (24 page)

“Sure, just to your left.”

He reached down and took two branches, then ripped off his torn left sleeve in two parts. After tying some material around each branch, he opened the door and then had to step back, for a cloud of noxious oak-fired smoke filled the air and made him cough. Inside, Megek had lit a great fire in a stone hearth and then smothered it partially with stones. If the fire had been brighter, Merlin would have been able to see the rows and rows of fish hanging from the ceiling.

Taking a deep breath, he ducked into the room and inched his way forward until he found one of the drip pans by kicking it. After wetting the makeshift torches in the greasy liquid, he shoved the tips in the fire. It didn't take long for them to light, and moments later he made his way back to the workroom, closing the door behind him.

He handed a torch to Natalenya, opened the smokehouse door, and stepped outside, torch first. Two wolves were there, and they stopped growling and backed away.

“Wait!” Natalenya called. “What if the torches go out?”

“I've still got my dirk, and the smithy isn't far. We can run if we need to.”

Natalenya stepped out next to him, one hand holding Merlin's staff and the other grasping the torch, which she thrust toward the wolves.

“You watch behind and to the sides,” he said, “and I'll wave my torch out front.”

Merlin stepped into the well-worn path that his feet had almost memorized. Just a short distance to the large rock next to the pine, and then the path turned south. But the wolves harassed them, and their progress was slow. Three times Natalenya had to shove her torch into their faces, and Merlin had to use both his torch and his dirk to keep them at bay. If he wasn't already wet from the rain, he would have felt the anxious sweat trickling down his back. He felt foolish for risking their lives in this way, but what other choice did he have? There wasn't much time before Vortigern would attack the druids.

Finally the wolves slunk away, discouraged, and Merlin breathed a sigh of relief.

It was just in time, for the rain began again and the torches went out.

With the wolves gone, Merlin and Natalenya walked along in silence until they arrived at the old oak door of Merlin's home. He found the iron lever his father had crafted and paused to feel its comfortable curve. After he left with Uther in the morning, how long until he returned home? When would he feel this handle again? Suddenly every mundane detail about his life became special. The straw mattress where he slept in the smithy. The sound of his sister as she pranced about the soup pot. Their old horse, Kapall. Even Merlin's broken mug.

And Natalenya. How he wished he could marry her. But all these things were slipping away. He would spend his days away from his family, unmarried and blind.

The door opened with a jerk. Someone jumped out and tackled Merlin, pressing the air from his lungs as he hit the ground. From somewhere above, Natalenya gave a short scream.

M
erlin fought back against his attacker, trying to free his arms.

“Got him!” the man yelled.

Extracting an arm, Merlin struggled to push the attacker off, until he recognized the voice. He sucked in a little air and said, “Tas … it's me.”

“Merlin!” His father let go and stood, then pulled Merlin up. “Why in the name of Rome were you fiddling with the latch?”

“I wasn't … I was just coming home.”
Maybe for the last time
.

His father scraped some mud from Merlin's shoulder. “Didn't mean to scare you. We thought someone was listening at the door again. He got away last time. Hello, Natalenya, come in out of the cold.”

Natalenya brushed against Merlin's arm as they entered, and he felt her shiver. Dybris greeted them from the table beyond the
hearth, and Natalenya sat down opposite him. Before Merlin joined her, he retrieved a wool blanket from Ganieda's bed and awkwardly laid it over her shoulders. She reached up to clasp it together, and their hands brushed. Her touch lingered for the briefest moment, and though Merlin felt that he was forgiven, it did little to ease the hurt muffling his heart.

“Merlin, your father and I have been discussing what to do about the Stone, but we don't agree,” Dybris said without seeming to notice the exchange before him.

Owain coughed as he sat down, throwing Merlin a warm, wet towel. “I see you've been in trouble again. Use that to wipe the blood off your arm.”

Merlin had already forgotten about the wolf attack, and he pulled up what was left of his sleeve to wash his wounds. Thankfully none of them were deep, for he had killed the wolf that quick. But all of this was unimportant, and he forced his attention back to the problem threatening them all: the Druid Stone.

“What are your thoughts?” he asked the men.

“I say we do
something
. Like drop it in the marsh,” Dybris said, “but Owain thinks I'm hopeless.”

Merlin's father slapped the table. “I never said that.”

“Both of you, wait,” Merlin said. “On our own this cause
is
hopeless. But if we had help, we might destroy the Stone.”

“But who would help?” his father said. “All I want to do is save Mônda and Ganieda.”

Merlin put his hand on his father's shoulder. “We can do both, Tas. What if the High King's men planned to attack the druidow tonight?”

“Shah, then,” his father whispered. “You're telling us something you shouldn't.”

Dybris clapped his hands. “That means we're free. If Uther attacks, we need only wait.”

Merlin sighed. “I wish it were so. Vortigern arranged it so he leads, while Uther guards his family.”

“Do you lack confidence in him?” Dybris asked. “Surely the High King's battle chief —”

“Vortigern can't be trusted,” Natalenya interrupted, and her words were woven with fear. “I overheard him speaking with my father, and I doubt his loyalty to Uther.”

Merlin took stock of this new information, confirming his own suspicions. “The truth is this: we can't rely on Vortigern to destroy the Stone. So we need a second plan.”

Merlin's father slid his bench closer to the table. “What do you suggest?”

“You and Dybris should go to the circle of stones, and as soon as Vortigern scatters the druidow, steal the Stone in the confusion. Then we four will destroy it. We must act now, or we'll forfeit the chance. It wants to enslave us all … or kill us if it cannot.”

Dybris made a humming sound, as if in thought. “And if Vortigern doesn't show? If you can't trust him —”

“In that case, we'll have to figure something else out.”

“And how will we take it away?” Owain asked.

“We can cover it,” Dybris said, “with the same skins they use. That way we won't see it or touch it.”

“And Merlin and I can bring your wagon,” Natalenya said, “and wait for you.”

“Let's not forget Kapall,” Merlin's father said. “He's still limping. I doubt he could hobble that far.”

Merlin sighed. “We'll need to find another horse to pull the wagon. Can we trust Allun? His mule would be perfect if he doesn't need it for milling tonight.”

“Sure,” Dybris said. “I've spoken with him recently, and if there's anyone besides Troslam who has his head on straight —”

“Do you think he'd let us?” Natalenya asked.

Owain leaned back and tapped the wall. “I'm sure he would.”

“What worries me,” Dybris added, “is how to avoid getting caught.”

Everyone sat in silence. The druids guarded the Stone, and it
would be difficult to get close without being discovered. To take it away would be even more difficult.

“What if you disguised yourselves?” Natalenya asked.

Dybris laughed. “To look like druidow? What would Crogen say?”

“And how to you propose we pull that off?” Owain asked. “You want us to cut blue scars on our arms? Without those, we'd be dead. We couldn't even wear long sleeves, because they don't hide their scars.”

“It'll be dark … What if you painted them on?” Merlin said. “Surely Troslam and Safrowana have blue dye.”

His father got up and paced. “Sure, and we'll learn the secret druid talk in the next hour too —”

“We have to do something, Tas!”

“And what if Vortigern takes us for real druidow? I don't want a sword through my neck.”

Dybris patted his partially bald head. “I'll just show my tonsure and vouch for you. No worries.”

“If you think you're gong to save me with your bald spot, I have plenty of worries.”

“The plan isn't perfect, Owain, but I can't think of anything better. We'll go to Troslam's to dye our arms while Merlin and Natalenya borrow the miller's mule. Let's try.”

Merlin's father resumed his pacing.

Just as Merlin prepared to speak again, a twig cracked outside the window on the other side of the house. His father ran, knocking his shin on a stool. He slammed open the door and sprinted outside, Dybris close behind.

Someone yelled, and then silence. After awhile the two men trudged back inside, and Merlin's father swore. “Slipped in the mud and let him get away.”

“Was someone spying on us?” Natalenya asked.

“Yes.” Owain pulled off his mud-slicked tunic.

“He must be fast,” Dybris said. “I didn't even see him run into the woods.”

Merlin took the tunic and laid it near the hearth. “Who would eavesdrop on us?”

“Don't know. Didn't see very well either time, but he was wearing brown. Maybe a monk …”

Natalenya took hold of Merlin's arm. “A monk? Why would a monk spy on us, and how much did he hear?”

Dybris sat down, and his bench squeaked like his voice. “I can't answer that. I can't answer that. Let's pray.”

As the druidow finished their evening meal, Mórganthu and one other druid passed like dappled shadows through the gray-skinned trees until they arrived at the glade where the circle of stones lay. Mórganthu paused, gazed at the Stone, and wrinkled his brow deeply.

The druid tapped him on the arm, but Mórganthu slapped his hand away.

“Ard dre, you have not answered me yet. We are ready now for the wicker fires of Beltayne. Shall I proceed with your plan?”

With a crooked finger, Mórganthu wiped a tear from his cheek. “Yes, yes. So sorry for my silence. Gather half our number, and do not stray from my words.”

The druid nodded, then headed back the way he had come.

Striding from the eastern side of the field, Mórganthu stopped six feet from the Stone and glanced around to verify his solitude. Then, jingling his wand of seashells, he circled the Stone southwise to follow the course of the sun. His gaze was always fixed upon the Stone, and he chanted in the druid tongue.

After passing five times around the Stone, he stopped, pulled a fish from a bag, and set it on the Stone. Then he knelt. “O great Belornos, I give you this offering and beseech thy counsel. Allow me to approach thy Stone of Abundance!”

A blue flame emanated from the Stone, engulfed the fish, and consumed it.

Mórganthu crawled forward until only inches separated his hands from the Stone. “O Stone of Abundance, I ask to touch thee and receive the counsel of Belornos!”

The blue light radiated even more brightly before him.

Mórganthu closed his eyes and carefully placed a hand on each side of the Stone, where they immediately stuck as if frozen. He chanted again, but the words slurred as his mind faded into the flames.

The blue glow pulsed, and Mórganthu jerked his head up, eyes wide and pupils dilated.

“That is
not
the agreement I made with him,” he yelled.

Instantly a few flames burst from the top of the Stone.

Mórganthu cried out until they faded.

“I will perform
part
of thy command. They will all be killed, but not her. That was the bargain!”

Flames burst forth again, and Mórganthu shrieked. When they subsided and he could breathe again, he asked, “You, you would make me break my potent oath to such a man of consequence?”

The flames leaped even higher, and Mórganthu screamed. “
Mercy!
Mercy, please, I relent. As you command, O Voice, they will
all
die!”

Flashing blue fire exploded from the Stone, scalding Mórganthu's hands and nearly igniting his hair before flinging him onto his back.

Garth dashed from the woods, knelt beside Mórganthu, and cradled his head. The boy flicked away blue cinders that burned in Mórganthu's hair.

“Ard Dre, are you all right?”

Mórganthu groaned and tried to sit up. He would have failed if Garth's hands hadn't been there for support. “My son. My only son, you are here …”

“Sorry to disturb you, but as I get no midmeal, which is right cruel in my ‘pinion, I was sent to say
he
wants to see you.”

Mórganthu blew on his bleeding hands. “Who?”

“The warrior wearin' black an' such —”

“What? What is his name?”

Garth rubbed his stomach. “He'd have come himself, but he's stuffin' his cheeks with loaves an' chicken. I asked him for a bite, but he —”

Mórganthu struck Garth across the face, leaving a red welt. “What is his name, you fool!”

Garth yelped and jumped away. “An Eirish warrior. McGoss.”

“Help me … Help me to stand.”

Garth drew near to support the arch druid as he found his balance but flinched when Mórganthu's hands reached out to him.

“Belornos told me I would need him for this task, and he already comes?”

“What did you say, Ard Dre?”

“Nothing. Nothing! Ignore an old man's wandering tongue. Now fetch him. Tell McGoss I am ready.”

As Garth ran off, Mórganthu called after him. “And when you have told him, be a kind son and bring the long rope from my tent.”

That sea rat McGoss! I don't even get a bite o' food for runnin' his message, and the brute twists my ear purple until I promise not to tell anyone about his secret meetin' with Mórganthu
. Garth's left ear felt twice the size of the other.

And he still had to get the rope for Mórganthu. Then he could hide from those evil eyeballs of the druid wives.

His stomach growled as he unstrung the flap to Mórganthu's tent, a place forbidden to him ever since he'd joined the druidow. But Garth knew special delicacies lay inside. After the previous evening's meal, Mórganthu had brought out a small barrel of dried strawberries and passed them around to his inner circle. Did poor starving Garth have a sweet strawberry plopped into his mouth? Not even one sliver.

As he stepped into the warm tent, he peeked out at all the druidow sitting beyond the campfires laughing and talking. Garth
grinned as he tied the flap closed again, his stomach near to rolling in anticipation.

As he turned around, his gaze was drawn to the drooping tent's ceiling. There hung hundreds of bones, each etched with the same kinds of lines Garth had seen on a few of the standing stones around the circle. One of the druidow had told him the writing was called
ogham
, but he didn't understand a lick of it. Some of the bones were old and gray, while others were yellow with pink ends where flesh had been cleaned off.

A wind blew over the tent, causing its cloth roof to wave and sending the bones clinking into each other. Garth stuffed his thumbs in his ears and ducked toward the center of the tent, only to run into the head of a white bull and its rolled-up hide. The dark eye sockets glared at him, and the sharpened horns pointed at his throat like daggers.

Recoiling from the bull, he found the pile of rope on the right side of the tent, which he'd bring to Mórganthu soon enough. For now, he ran to a wooden chair at the back of the tent, behind which sat a number of barrels. The chair itself was carved with fanged, winged, and scaled beasts. One of them was a snake with horns.

Pulling his gaze away, Garth reached for the largest barrel and pulled off the lid. Inside he found nothing but wooden stakes and scraps of torn tent cloth. Opening the next largest, he discovered it to be empty except for a smattering of dried oats in the bottom.

Kneeling down, he picked up a smaller barrel and felt its weight. Garth smiled. This one must have the strawberries!

He opened the lid, and a terrible smell belched from the barrel. He wanted to close it immediately, but he wondered if some strawberries had gone bad. Waving the lid made the smell dissipate a little, so he peeked inside. He was surprised to see a white-haired animal skin on top. More of the bull's hide? Reaching in, he took hold of the hairs and pulled it out.

And then Garth screamed.