Merlin's Blade (33 page)

“Is it breaking, Tas?”

“No!”

“There are torches outside,” Natalenya called. “They've come. I can see druidow and lots of warriors. Even the villagers.”

The Stone flared up with a bright blue flame, and Dybris yelled.

Merlin backed up as the burning tentacles of fire pulled at his fingers.

Owain threw the chisel down and took up his biggest hammer. He waited for the flames to die down and then smashed down with all his strength.

Crack!

Once more.

Cracsh!

Again and again his father's iron-forged arms tried to split the Druid Stone asunder, but the sound of the hammer blows did not change, and Merlin could tell that the Stone hadn't fractured.

His father gasped. “It's not breaking!”

The wood of the doors groaned and then splintered.

“They're trying to smash in,” Natalenya yelled.

Owain called to Dybris, “Take this sword. Everyone else push benches against the doors. If they break in, we're outnumbered ten to one.”

Garth ran up the stony path toward the fortress with all the speed he could muster. His empty stomach groaned, and his lungs burned like the bundle of three ember-tipped branches he held. But up he climbed without fail, passing Tregeagle's shadowed house, until he arrived at the first ring of the old earthworks. There he sat behind a boulder to rest a bit, keeping the branches lit by fanning them.

“ ‘Never let your fellow sailor down', me father'd say, an' he'd be happy I was helpin'.”

Far to the west, lightning ripped the heavens.

“Better do this before it rains!”

Garth stood and faced the fortress, whose staved wooden walls seemed to soar into the night sky. Studying the top of the walls
and tower, he couldn't see anyone on lookout. He listened, and the multitude of horses neighed as before. He bent over — hopefully unseen — and snuck around the outside of the wall to the right, where the ground was higher.

Now where did I see that huge pile o' hay inside the fortress?
He thought back to the time when Merlin had taken him to the tower for a tour. Before he'd borrowed the wagon … well, stolen it, to be truthful. If only he had done right back then.

Ah, he remembered where the hay was. Inside the wall, right up against the timber-built tower! Finding a high spot near a bush, Garth held the branches close together upside down and blew them to flame. He closed his eyes and uttered his first prayer in a long while.

Scrunching up his nose, he threw the first branch over the fortress wall. The second branch went wide, hit the wall, and fell. The third went over like the first. Garth scampered to the one that fell, backed up, and lobbed it over.

Then he ran back down the hillside as fast as he could without tripping in the dark.

Bedwir stood next to two other warriors, and at Vortigern's orders, they slammed their shoulders into the doors for the tenth time. At first the doors had moved and cracked, but now something heavy halted their momentum.

“What about the other door?” Vortipor asked his father.

“Eeh, these double doors look weaker. Grab the tree trunk, you softies!” Vortigern roared. “We'll get that Stone or you'll break your backs.”

Bedwir looked at Vortigern in confusion.
Get the Stone?
Uther had commanded it destroyed. And why had Vortigern forced them to make this mad chase after calling off the attack on the druidow, who now stood idly by, chanting their twaddle?

A voice rang out, “The Tor, look at the Tor!”

Bedwir glanced up to where the warrior pointed, and there, halfway up the mountain, flames and smoke surged upward from behind the fortress walls.

“A fire! Our horses!” the warriors shouted.

Vortigern cursed and blew a blast on his horn. “Save the horses. Everyone up the hill!”

Garth watched with glee from the shadow of Troslam's house as the hay inside the fortress caught fire and flashed a glow upon the tower. Soon the flames roared up the central tower itself. Within moments the fortress gate was drawn up and the horses driven out, followed by a few guards. The flames climbed higher, and soon there must have been fifty horses galloping around, neighing and kicking.

A few found the path downward, away from the blaze, and others followed.

Garth glanced down the hillside at the warriors heading toward the blaze and danced a little jig. “Yes!”

Numerous horses raced onto Troslam's road, and four of them slowed to a trot nearby. Ah, they were beautiful stallions. Shiny coats all, and high striding as well! Two brown, a bay, and a black. They seemed lost.

Garth stepped out and grabbed their reins. He coaxed them forward and led them to the weaver's high wall and wooden gate. Finding the gate unbarred, he swung it wide and brought the horses in.

“Good
hobbhow
, go and eat grass!” He barred the gate from within the yard and ran back inside the house, to the surprise of all. Finally, he took up his mug, still warm from where Kyallna had placed it on the hearth, and sat down to his soup!

The beating on the doors ceased.

For a moment no one moved or spoke as Merlin and the others waited for something — anything — to happen. When no horns
blew, no battering ram burst through the door, and no fire lapped at the walls, the four of them slid into motion once more.

“Merlin, get around to the bellows and work ‘em double fast,” Owain said. “Maybe I can break the Stone if we heat it.”

Avoiding the still-pulsing rock, Merlin made his way around to the bellows and set to work. Just that morning he had gripped these warm handles, but now it seemed like months ago. He looked out the iron bars of the window, and there, surrounding the smithy, floated hundreds of hazy torches like the lanterns of dead spirits. The druidow' chanting hung eerily in the air.

Up and down he pumped the bellows, and the air blew through the forge, causing the coals to spark and dance. When they glowed hot and red again, Owain and Dybris picked up the Stone by the leather aprons and, shuffling over to the forge, rolled it onto the mound of flaming charcoal.

The room darkened as the Stone blocked the light of the forge. Merlin tried to pump with even more strength, but the bellows just wouldn't blow any harder.

His father told Dybris to guard the doors, and Natalenya made her way over to Merlin. “Can I help?” she asked.

Her voice was tired, and he sensed fear there — the same fear that filled his heart. What if they couldn't break the Stone?

In answer, he took her hands and placed them on the left handle of the bellows, situating his own hands so they could work together. “On the downstrokes, put your weight on the handle.” Her pressing barely helped, but having her hands near his comforted him. If he could only see her, hold her gaze with his own and forget for a moment their danger.

Upward and downward they drove the bellows, and heat filled the room. Never had the forge been jammed with so much coal, never had the fire been so hot. This kind of heat would swiftly scar any iron with a white, sparking heat. What of the Stone?

“What's happening, Tas?”

From deep within, the Stone glowed whitish-blue.

“It's changing color, but I don't know if that's good. I'll try to break it again.”

Without warning, the doors splintered as if someone had hit them with a massive war hammer.

“They've got a battering ram!” Dybris yelled.

Five druidow backed up McEwan as they heaved the tree into the center of the double doors. This time the stubborn timbers cracked and pushed inward a little.

McEwan smiled.

But just as the tree slammed into the doors for the second time, a long sharp blade sliced out of the crack and almost nicked his forearm.

McEwan yelled as he dropped the tree. “Ard dre, they ha' long blades in there!”

Mórganthu walked forward to survey the situation. “Trivial, trivial, I say. Are you not my finest warrior?”

“Sure, an' I'm your last one. O'Sloan an' the others fell at the circle!”

“The easier to reward you. Kill those inside, and I will give you triple the price of the finest
kern
warrior.”

“But if me hand is cut off —”

Mórganthu forced the tip of his staff into McEwan's chin. “Do you fear
their
blades? A smith, a monk, and an imbecile?”

“I fear none if I got me own good club. But when the doors bust open, I'll ha' naught but a lug o' tree.”

“Nevertheless, I command you to break them down. The Stone calls to me. Kill those inside and bring it out!”

McEwan grimaced but nodded his assent.

Backing up until he was out of the blade's range, he and the druidow picked up the tree again and, with one mighty heave, rushed at the door.

M
erlin paused at the bellows and yelled, “Is the Stone breaking?”

“No,” Natalenya answered. “Nothing seems to hurt it.”

Again the hammer clanged against the Stone. Merlin's father backed away from the smoking forge and sucked in cleaner air.

Off in the distance, thunder roared and shook the smithy.

“They're coming,” Dybris yelled.

With a loud boom, the doors cracked.

“Use the sword!” Merlin's father called as he slammed the hammer into the Stone, causing flames to shoot upward from the coals.

“Too late to —”

This time the blow from the battering ram snapped the bar in two, and the doors burst inward. Chunks of wood flew across the room as the workbenches overturned.

Merlin released the bellows and drew his dirk. As he moved forward, he squeezed Natalenya's trembling hand. “Pray.”
I'll need it
.

But she was already whispering for help.

As the dust settled, a huge shadow moved into the doorway, blocking the blur of torchlight before shoving the workbench aside with a mighty thrust.

Dybris swooshed his sword and yelled as a club hurtled down. The monk clunked to the ground just as Merlin's father jumped into the gap.

“Have at you, brute!”

There was a clash as the sword bit into the club. Merlin stepped closer, trying to keep track of the dodging shape of his father and the lumbering form of the giant.

“Stay still,
gwer
!” the Eirish voice boomed through the smithy. “I'll bash yar head just like the monk's.”

“Not while I'm —”

The giant's long leg shot out and kicked Merlin's father, who collapsed to the dirt. The warrior then yanked him up and threw him across the room over the blazing forge. Owain landed on top of the bellows with a crack.

Merlin took his chance. He dove forward with the point of his blade and jabbed it into the giant's side, biting deeply.

The man bellowed in rage and slapped Merlin down with his meaty hand.

Merlin rolled and stood again with his dirk ready.

But the intruder was gone.

“The bard stabbed me!” he shouted as he ran off into the darkness.

The light of the room dimmed as the druidow continued their dark chanting. Thunder echoed on the western wind, and the Stone began to hum. At first the noise tickled Merlin's ears like a fly, but soon it grew to the sound of a great beating of wings.

He covered his ears as a violent wave of freezing air blasted at him from the Stone. Merlin bit back a cry as the skin on his face
dried and cracked, and his hands blistered in the burning frost. The Stone blasted another icy wind, and this time, like raking claws, it drew blood from his skin.

He could faintly hear Natalenya's voice, but the exact words were caught by the howling din.

Merlin tried to rouse himself by walking, but his legs felt as if they were trapped in heavy snowdrifts. He lifted his arms a little and discovered they too had numbed beyond feeling. His lungs deadened, and a heavy sleep crept upon him. With detachment he felt his dirk drop from his fingers and clang upon the frozen dirt at his feet. He strove to think, but his muddled thoughts drifted away like snowflakes.

The chanting grew louder outside. Soon the footfalls of a man echoed through the doorway, and a dark shadow filled the expanse.

“O blind one, is that
you
?”

Merlin turned toward the silhouette.
Who is speaking?

“I'm … here,” Merlin said. “May I … help you?”

“Yes, yes. I have arrived to claim that which is my own from the smithy.”

The smithy? Is that where I am?
“The shop's here. Tas … can assist you. Do you need something … forged?”

Laughter filled the room. Mocking. Poisonous. “No, no. I am not here for the services of your father. I am here to slit your throats and throw your bloated bodies onto the heap of this wasted Christian age.”

“Who … are you?”

More laughter. “Do you not know? The Stone has indeed frosted your thoughts! Allow me to introduce myself.” And the man stepped forward so the light from the forge danced across the whitened grave of his face. “I am Mórganthu mab Mórfryn. I hold the sword that slew my only son, Anviv, and if I have heard rightly, you and your father are responsible for its making.”

Mórganthu lifted the gleaming blade to strike.

Merlin tried to move, run, block the blow, but his limbs hadn't thawed enough. He could only watch helplessly as the sword flashed down.

With a great yell, Merlin's father jumped in the way. And despite Owain's attempt to parry the blow, Mórganthu's blade struck, biting deeply into the slope between Owain's shoulder and neck. He cried out but did not fall.

Blood spattered Merlin's face, and he winced. “Father,” he called, but his voice felt weak and his lungs hurt.

Owain raised his own blade again and thrust at Mórganthu, who warded off the blow and stepped back.

Merlin sought to force his legs to move toward his father, but it was as if gravel grated his bones.

Wheezing in anguish, Owain beat off blow after blow from Mórganthu as their blades clanged together, but each parry showed his diminishing strength.

Mórganthu lunged, and when the blade missed its mark, the arch druid yelled, “Die! Die, my enemy!”

With great concentration, Merlin began to move forward.

“Merlin, here's your blade!” Natalenya's voice shook with fear. One of her warm hands rested on his neck, and the other pressed the dirk handle into his thawing hand.

“Your father's bleeding —”

“Get back … behind the forge.”

“What can I do?”

“Stay safe and … ask God to strengthen us!”

Merlin dragged his feet forward, his dirk ready.

His father pushed Mórganthu into a workbench, and tools clacked to the dirt. Yet in a flash Mórganthu sliced his blade down again, and his father howled in pain.

Merlin tried to run, but he stumbled on his still-numb feet. As he fell, he saw a red flash from the pommel of Uther's sword. Reaching toward it, he grabbed hold of Mórganthu's wrist as he plunged to the man's feet, almost pulling the druid down with him.

“Let go, you lout!” Mórganthu scratched at Merlin's scarred face with his free hand, leaving new gouges.

But Merlin raised his dirk and, in one swift stroke, severed Mórganthu's hand.

Uther's sword fell to the ground, and Mórganthu stood in utter shock as a flood of crimson poured forth. He then began to scream, the shrill tones filling every nook of the room. Finally, shoving the stub of his arm under his tunic, he ran from the smithy.

As his wails faded, the room suddenly lit with a fierce blue light. Merlin climbed to his knees just as flames from the Stone shot high into the air.

Natalenya shouted.

Merlin sheathed his dirk and fetched Uther's sword, prying off the sharp-nailed fingers of Mórganthu's hand. This was the sword his father had made. The sword with which Merlin had killed the wolf. His blade until the day he could surrender it to Arthur. He rose to his feet and attempted to reach Natalenya beyond the forge, but the blaze blocked his way.

“Natalenya!”

“Merlin, help!”

The blue inferno of the Stone rose above him now, and the thatch roof caught fire.

“Get out through the window,” he yelled. “It's behind you!”

“I can't,” she screamed. “There are iron bars, and I can't pull them out.”

Coils of sapphire flame hunted for Natalenya, who cowered, coughing.

Merlin felt for his father's hammer on the anvil's stump and hefted it to his chest together with the sword. “O God, help me!” he cried as he dove at the flaming Stone. The exposed parts of his arms and face reddened, and his clothing began to char. The flames licked against his face, and his hair smoldered. Above him a torrent of thunder shook the smithy's walls.

None of his father's tools had destroyed the Stone, but he had to save Natalenya. He jabbed the point of the sword against the Stone
and pounded on the bronze-forged hilt with the hammer. But the blade couldn't pierce the pockmarked surface.

Evil laughter swirled around Merlin as he hammered harder.

Natalenya called across the rift of flames, but he couldn't make out her words.

With every blow the pain increased in the hand holding the sword. The skin curled, and his shrieking fingers caused the sword to shake to the side. It would have dropped to the floor, except Natalenya, standing now, reached through the flames, clenched his hand, and raised the sword up again.

Cries escaped her mouth, and her hand flinched in pain.

Merlin struck a ringing blow with the hammer, and lightning burst from the Stone. Merlin's whole body wrenched forward into its searing tendrils.

The smithy darkened, and Merlin felt himself falling. But there was no floor.

Natalenya, Dybris, his father, the flames, the Stone, the smithy — all disappeared as he tumbled through a whispering murk.

Into a place of distant echoes he fell, finally striking the ground hard with his left shoulder. He wanted to open his eyes to see the blur of his surroundings, but he needed to rest until the throbbing in his bones subsided. He felt his hands to see how burnt they were and was surprised to find them well.

He sat up, opened his eyes, and discovered that everything around him was in perfect focus. At his side lay the sword, and he found comfort in gripping its handle. Glances around revealed he had fallen into a massive cavern of dark rock where dim lights floated. Were they torches held by the druidow, or something else entirely? Beyond the lights, on the far side of the cavern, plumes of smoke wafted from a large hole in the wall.

A faint, moaning voice rippled across the chamber. Soon a chorus of other voices joined. Wailing filled the cavern, and Merlin
stopped up his ears to the dirgelike cries. One of the lights hovered closer, revealing itself to be a large, headless body, white and ghostlike. Its bones cracked and shook, and its arms carried Natalenya's limp body.

Merlin bounded to his feet. “Set her down!”

Lifting his sword, he tried to stab the headless creature, but it ignored his futile thrusts and glided over to the center of the cavern.

A granite pillar covered with a blue cloth — the same as in his previous vision — ascended from the ground, and the specter draped Natalenya upon it. Her pale form lay where the drinking horns had once stood. Her disheveled locks hung down upon her bloodstained and tattered dress.

Burning bile filled Merlin's throat, and he sprinted forward. “Natalenya!”

More headless phantoms appeared, and each one bore a dark chain. Merlin swung his sword at them as they passed.

One spun around and lashed him across the mouth with its sharp shackles.

He fell to his knees licking blood.

The dead creatures sped to Natalenya. They anchored the chains to the granite table and fettered them around her wrists and ankles.

Merlin lurched upward and ran at the table, shouting and scattering the phantoms. He tried to slide the chains off Natalenya but found they bit cruelly into her skin. He struck a chain five times with his sword, but the links only bent.

Blue light poured from a giant hole in the cavern wall, and the smoke thickened. An ear-splitting roar shook the ceiling until stones and stalactites crashed to the floor.

With rocks pelting down, Merlin whipped his cloak and arms over the woman he loved.

Then he saw the dragons.

Two enormous winged dragons crept from the hole and slid toward him — one red and the other white, their goatlike horns curving away from the sides of their heads behind fanged jaws.
Considering their massive size, their arms and legs were small, but the ends of each held a set of dagger-sharp claws. Their muscles rippled in spectacular power as they slithered toward what he now realized was an altar.

Toward Natalenya.

Merlin's chest squeezed tightly on his heart, and he could no longer take a breath.

The red dragon was much smaller than the white, though faster. Thick, jagged scales covered its body, and from its mouth blazed a purple flame. Even at a distance, the heat smote Merlin, and sweat ran down his forehead, stinging his eyes.

The dragon slid closer and snatched one of the specters from the air. With black liquid dripping from its fangs, the dragon crushed it into a pile of shattered bones.

Merlin jumped between the dragon and Natalenya, holding out his trembling sword. He tried to yell at the beast, but the words choked in his throat.

The dragon noticed neither him nor his puny sword as its dark and silver-gold eyes gazed upon the altar and its chained prey.

Closer and closer it approached, crushing rocks as it came. And farther back, the head of the white dragon reared up, surveying the scene.

Overwhelmed with fear, Merlin felt blood drain from his face, and his arms were like dead branches tied at his sides. An angel appeared before him in a blinding white robe. His voice was strong yet no more than a whisper in the great cavern.

“S
TRIKE EVIL
, M
ERLIN!”

Then the angel faded from sight.

Merlin gulped, furrowed his brow and, embracing his own death, bounded at the creature. When he came within striking distance he tried to jab it in the snout.

Cla-rack!

The sword only glanced off its scales.

But the dragon reared up and studied him with narrowed pupils.

“W
HO
…
ART
…
THOU?”
it questioned as a long forked tongue flickered through its teeth.

“I am Merlin, servant of the High King of the Britons, and you shall not have her!”

“H
IGH
… K
ING?”
It laughed, and its snorting roar shook the cavern. “T
HIS NIGHT
…
WE FEASTED ON HIS BLOOD
…
AND WE WILL GORGE
…
ON
THINE
AS WELL!”