Merlin's Nightmare (The Merlin Spiral) (29 page)

But he was wrong, for it was
more
than a truce. Both kings stood, and Vortigern spoke with much halting and coughing, though soon his voice grew stronger.

“British . . . and Saxen nobles . . . I announce to you that we have forged a lasting truce . . . between our peoples . . . one that shall never
be gainsaid . . . a truce that we will, together, fight the invading Picti in the north and rebuff the . . . the . . . threat of Gorlas from the west.”

Here Vortigern paused, as Hengist withdrew his hand and replaced it with the hand of his daughter, who had stepped forward.

Vortigern cleared his throat and continued. “Furthermore, to seal this truce, I announce to you my . . . immediate marriage to Hengist’s daughter, Reinwandt. Thus shall join two great peoples. Thus shall peace be preserved. Thus shall the loss of my house” — and here a tear leaked unbidden from his right eye — “the loss of my wife . . . children . . . and grandchildren . . . be restored.”

Arthur sucked in his breath as a stunned silence filled the room — from both Saxenow and Briton alike. Reinwandt curtsied to Vortigern and then looked up at him with unblinking eyes set in a stern, emotionless face.

And of all who could have protested this unholy alliance by marriage, the only one who stood up was Fodor. The envoy shook his head and then bowed before the High King.

“My majestic, illustrious, most noble lord . . .”

Vortigern closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “What is it now?”

“My illuminated, majestical sire . . .”

“Out with it!”

Fodor’s chin began to quiver. “It is your lineage, my lord. If you marry this Saxen . . . uh . . . princess, you will sully your children’s pedigree, and the bloodline of their children’s children, and then — ”

Vortigern drew his sword and pointed it right at Fodor’s upturned nose. “Be silent!”

The envoy clamped his mouth shut and drew his twitching lips inside.

In the next moment a disturbance came at the back of the room, near the gate. One of Vortigern’s warriors marched forward with a spear pointed at a man dressed in black — and not just dressed in black, but with a black mask over his face and a wrapped harp hanging from his shoulder.

Merlin . . .

Mórgana, having traveled with Loth, Mórdred, and Mórganthu to their new fortress in Lyhonesse, sat in its ornate upper throne room. A fire burned on the hearth under a small, skewered boar, whose dripping fat fell and sparked the flames higher, filling the room with a luscious, salty aroma.

Mórdred banged the door open and threw his dusty cloak over a low table. Mumbling something, he scuffed his way to the fire and sliced off a long slab of boar meat.

Mórgana paid little attention to the him, for the orb held her interest much more.

“The hunt was useless,” he said, stuffing his mouth. “Did you hear me? The only deer I saw escaped into the brush, and I swear it was the only thing alive on Lyhonesse besides the rodents!”

“Really?” Loth said vaguely from where he stood behind Mórgana’s throne. He, too, looked into the orb.

“Not a single, nasty deer . . . not even a paltry partridge. Why did we come here?”

From where she sat on her carved, wooden throne, she lifted the orb higher so both Mórganthu and Loth could see. Inside swirled images of British men as they stealthily climbed down from a high mountain fortress in the dark. Below them lay the campfires of Picti warriors.

“So,” Loth said, “they think they canna’ escape Dinas Crag sae easily? They think they’re goin’ to come back with help? Ha!”

Mórdred edged closer and peered into the orb to see what was going on.

Mórganthu turned to Mórgana. “What . . . what will you do? Will you use the fang upon them?”

“Yes, of course. I have already traveled there to alert Necton about their secret valley, and I’d rather not intervene in that way again right now. Besides, I’ve been waiting to use the fang upon those that have been hiding Merlin and his brood, and its power will make sure that they die.”

She pulled the fang from its sheath and held it up until its green fire merged with the purple flames of the orb to form a strange blue blaze that danced between them.

Mórganthu reached out with his only hand and brought his fingertips close to the blue fire. “This joined color reminds one of the flames of the Stone, does it not?”

Mórgana looked at him and lifted her nose in the air. “Has your old age made you a dotard? Do you not know that the supremacy of the Stone is the merging of two great powers? Thus it was before Merlin impaled the Stone, and thus the Voice has decreed it shall be again.”

“One can only hope.”

Mórdred snorted at his great-grandfather’s remark.

“There is no need to hope,” Mórgana said. “It is as certain as the death of these British runaways.”

She plunged the fang down toward the closest man inside the orb, and he screamed. As the fang came back up again, some smoke sizzled from its tip. Again and again she plunged the fang down until every man who had tried to escape lay either bleeding upon the cliff face or had slipped and plunged headlong to his ruin.

The fang now smoked so powerfully that Mórganthu backed away.

Mórgana swayed as strength drained from her. The room spun, and she would have pitched forward had Loth not steadied her. Using the fang like this taxed her to the core, and she would have to rest for a long while before she could use it again. But when she was strong enough, she vowed, she would inflict disease upon the inhabitants of Dinas Crag. She laughed. “Before long, yes, very soon,” she said, finding her voice, “Merlin’s litter will be slaves again!”

“But more importantly,” Loth said, “the fall o’ Luguvalium combined with the capture and slayin’ of Rheged’s vaunted horses means that our enemy’s power in the north is almost broken.”

“But we hate the Picts!” Mórdred said. “Didn’t they destroy Grandfather’s kingdom?”

Loth spat. “Nay, it was
Merlin
who destroyed my father and his kingdom, and his helpin’ Rheged angers me sorely. Luguvalium
was always a broken crutch to my father, and I’ll never mourn their downfall. Our kingdom is in the south now . . . with our queen.” And here he bent and kissed the back of Mórgana’s hand.

Mórgana smiled, pulled her hand away, and gave a little laugh. “You want to be king of the south, you say? That will only be true if Vortigern can be dealt with.”

She took a deep breath and stood tall once more. “Let us look, then, upon him . . .” And as she passed her hand over the orb, the scene inside shifted to reveal Vortigern seated on a throne, and next to him, Hengist and Reinwandt.

“You see?” she said. “I have made his heart to be a sweetcake in my hand. The fruition of our plan is almost complete.”

But then the shadows in the orb shifted, revealing Merlin’s face. He stood before Vortigern and bowed.

“What?” Mórgana shrieked. “He is
not
supposed to be present at the feast.”

Mórganthu pushed his head in closer and squinted at the orb. “Will this ruin our plans, my daughter’s daughter?”

Mórgana gnashed her teeth, finally pausing to take a little sniff. “No. I think not. And if there is any danger of that, then I will intervene — even if it costs me dearly. The planned course must not be disturbed, and I will make sure my pawns carry out their orders.”

The wind blew strongly in Taliesin’s hair as he gripped his basket of rocks. Far below, Necton was trying to force his great-uncle Ector to talk.

“Speaksa!” Necton shouted, and when Ector didn’t respond, he slammed his fist into the back of the man’s head.

Great-Aunt Eira gasped.

Taliesin picked up a rock.
If that Pict does that again
,
I’ll —

But Ector shook his head, strained against the bonds with his trunk-like arms, and finally spoke to those on the wall.

“I’m supposed to tell you to open the gates,” he shouted. “To beg for you to save my life. But I will not! Hold the fortress as long as you can, and don’t give in to these filthy, horse-killing dogs — ”

Great-Aunt Eira, called out, “No! Ector, no!”

Ector stared at her. “Hold fast, Eira! Don’t fear!”

Necton pointed a spear at Ector’s back, his lower lip twisting angrily as he spoke. “Openidha!”

Taliesin cocked his arm back, ready to throw. “Leave my uncle alone!”

Necton looked up, trying to see where the voice came from.

“I’ll open the gates,” Great-Aunt Eira shouted, her hair blowing wildly around her. “Just don’t kill him!”

Taliesin looked at her, confused. Should he throw his rock? Or should they give up? But there were just too many Pictish warriors on the path below Necton . . . if they opened the doors to try to save Ector, they’d all die or be slaves.

“No!” Ector said. “He’ll kill me anyway.
Don’t open the gates!
”

“Openidha!” Necton yelled once more.

Great-Aunt Eira swooned to the side and Taliesin’s mother supported her. Tears ran down Mother’s cheeks, but she said nothing, only wrapped her arms around her aunt and hugged her tight.

“Openidha!”

The spear in Necton’s hands tensed, and Taliesin knew the time had come.

Ector struggled against his bonds, then ceased, closed his eyes, and gritted his teeth.

Taliesin threw his rock. Like a good water-skipper, it was — flat, and sharp edged — and it sailed down in a perfect arc toward Necton’s head.

Necton set his jaw and brought the spear back to strike.

Eira screamed.

A gust of wind blew, and the rock shallied to the side. But it still struck the Pictish king in the shoulder, leaving a wound that began to bleed.

Necton twisted to the side in pain, and his spear missed.

Taliesin clapped, yelling.

More rocks flew from the heights, and the Pictish warriors with Necton began to back away.

Necton shouted at them and raised his spear once more. Garth grabbed it and tried to shove it to the side, cracking the butt of the spear into Necton’s mouth.

Necton backhanded Garth in the face.

The monk slipped on the loose shale, and fell.

Taliesin picked up another rock, this one heavier, and threw it, but it went wide.

Necton spit blood out, kicked Garth to keep him down, and then stabbed the spear into Ector’s back.

Ector collapsed, his visage wracked in pain.

Taliesin screamed. His uncle couldn’t die, he couldn’t!

A flurry of rocks rained down now, and Necton ducked as he jammed the spear deeper in.

Ector fell to his side and writhed, finally spasming and then falling still.

Necton grabbed Garth, lifted him up as a shield, and backed down the mountain.

When the Picti were far enough away, Eira was the first to open the gates and run screaming to her husband. Mother, Bedwir, Caygek, and Brother Loyt ran out after her.

But Taliesin didn’t go. He couldn’t go. It was too horrible — an evil dream that he wanted to end but that wouldn’t go away. He wanted to cry, but Withel was standing next to him, and so he held the beastly tears back, sucked in his breath, and let his soul burn instead.