Merlin's Blade (21 page)

Most of the villagers turned and walked toward Mórganthu, their arms stiff and their heads swaying slightly as drums began to beat beyond the Stone.

Owain held his breath as he looked to Uther and saw rage flash in the king's eyes and play at the corners of his mouth.

O
wain saw Uther baring his teeth. Colvarth tugged on the king's belt, whispered in his ear, and then pointed at Mórganthu.

“Vortigern,” Uther called, and his battle chief attended him at once. They conferred for a moment, and then Vortigern summoned half the warriors. These stepped forward and slid their steel from their sheaths.

“What's happening?” Merlin asked in Owain's ear.

Owain placed a hand on his son's shoulder. “It looks like Uther's going to confront Mórganthu.”

Merlin blew out a short breath. “How could he not? This is treason.”

“Aye.” Owain watched as Uther reached to pull his own sword from its sheath but found it missing. He jumped down and kicked among the tall grasses for the blade, which he'd thrown there, but not finding it, he returned to the Rock of Judgment and — to Owain's
delight — picked up the new sword. The sunshine blazed off of its lustrous surface as Uther tested its weight and balance.

He seemed satisfied, and Owain told Merlin the news.

Uther stalked off, stiffly, toward the druidow with Vortigern and his twenty warriors behind. The other half stayed behind in vigilant guard over Igerna and the children.

Onward they advanced, as fast as the High King could move with his uneven stride. How the sight of that limp pained Owain now, but he pushed the thought aside. Taking Merlin's arm, he followed the king's company at a distance as the villagers parted to admit the wave of armed men.

The advance of fierce-eyed warriors sent a panic through the ranks of druidow. One druid in a brown cloak tried to run but smacked into another, and both fell. Yet another druid ran sideways near Vortigern, and the battle chief shoved him face-first into the dirt. Only the center held as Mórganthu pulled Anviv and his robed druidow close to the Stone.

Owain had fully expected to see blood, but none was shed. The warriors had bluffed their way through, and now Uther stood before Mórganthu, whose eyes flashed as he stood firm, staff held at the ready.

“You call for rebellion, druid. Leave this island and let your name never be spoken of again. You will be forgotten, and your gods along with you. I command it.”

“It is
we
who are in power here,” Mórganthu answered with a sneer.

Uther pressed the tip of his sword through Mórganthu's beard and brought it near the man's heart. “You are a fool. Take your magician's rock and go.”

“We
will
take it. In truth, we have come to remove it back to the Gorseth Cawmen. Tonight we light the Beltayne fires after the double descent of the moon and the Seven Torches, and then” — Mórganthu smiled — “and then …”

“What?” Uther demanded, now pushing the blade against Mórganthu's chest. “You waste your speech calling on the old gods.”

“Our gods have power, and woe to any who oppose.” Mórganthu spit on the sword.

In response, Uther sliced the chain of Mórganthu's crescent-moon amulet, and it fell to the dirt. “You test my patience. Leave this place now!”

Mórganthu glared at Uther as he picked up his amulet. “You malign me because you do not believe. You malign me because your criminal of a bard does not believe. But the Druid Stone is before you, O doubter. Look and behold true power!”

And as Mórganthu stepped aside, he struck the Stone twice with his staff, and from its surface blazed a blue fire higher than Owain had ever seen.

Uther eyed the Stone in surprise.

Merlin pulled closer to Owain. “Tas? What's happening?”

“I'm trying not to look at the Stone, but Uther sure sees it. We should've warned him.”

Uther's face lost all expression. His hands and arms relaxed, causing the tip of the new sword to descend until it touched the grass.

Anviv stepped up to the High King and mocked him, saying, “Ha! You see, O father, even the
mighty
Uther falls before the power of our Stone!”

Owain shuddered and turned to Merlin. “We have to stop this. Uther's become enchanted.”

He stepped forward, but Merlin pulled his arm. “No, we need to pray! I'm convinced that's the only way to save him.”

“He has to look away from it.” Owain shook off his son's hand, but before he could take another step, Merlin wrapped his arms around his father's chest in a powerful hold, restraining him.

“Father God, we pray for our king, the king you have appointed to rule over us. Free him from this sorcery …”

Owain tried to agree in his mind with the prayer, yet the events before him fought for his attention.

Anviv waved his hand in front of Uther's face. “Where is your
strength
, O forceful one? Where is your
justice
?”

Uther blinked.

Anviv almost danced around the High King. “His majesty … servant of the Stone!”

Uther's lips twitched, and he shook his head.

Mórganthu tried to pull Anviv back, but he ignored his father.

“Fall prostrate, mighty king,” Anviv jeered up at Uther's face. “Touch the Stone of Abundance, and then kiss the foot … kiss the foot of the arch druid!”

A rage crept onto Uther's face, and he jerked backward from the Stone as if escaping the talons of an invisible beast. Lifting his new sword, he swung with astonishing speed, and in that deadly arc, he sliced through Anviv's neck.

Owain gasped as the head and body fell to the ground at the same instant, the face of Anviv frozen in mockery, and his copper torc rolling away, bloody, on the grass.

“What is it, Tas? Has Uther —?”

“No … he didn't … he didn't touch the Stone.”

Owain fell to his knees, and his tongue caught in his throat. He'd seen much worse before, but it had been a long time.

“What? Tas!”

“Anviv is dead.”

Mórganthu fell stricken beside the body of his son, his beard trailing in the blood as he picked up the fallen head. All the druidow retreated from Uther, who still held his sword at the ready, his eyes aflame.

“Noooo!” Mórganthu cried, and tears rolled from his eyes.

Uther pointed to Anviv's head with the sword. “What of this wolfish druid? Let the dead die!”

“He … was my son,” Mórganthu shrieked.

The High King stepped back, his mouth pressed in a firm line and his warriors gathered silently around him.

Mórganthu smoothed back Anviv's hair, his hand leaving a slick of blood across the strands. “A curse … on you, Uther mab Aurelianus … a curse on your life! May Belornos drink deep of the blood of your house!”

Mórganthu stood and called the druidows to him. They picked up the body and torc of Anviv while others took up the leather tarp with the Stone suspended inside.

Mórganthu turned to the speechless villagers and said through his tears, “Come this night, O people! Bring your animals for purification to the Beltayne Feast and the Night of Fire. There, with smoke, we will cleanse ourselves from the rot of” — his voice broke — “this
High King
and his false god. We will have roasted meat, bread, and drink in abundance for all. And we will dance and dedicate ourselves to Belornos … and the Stone which he sent.”

All around, the people nodded, but the thought sickened Owain. How could they be so easily led astray?

With Mórganthu in the rear, the druidow departed the village green as quickly as they had come. Before passing through the gate, Mórganthu pointed at Uther and mouthed words that couldn't be understood. Then cradling the head of his son, the arch druid departed with wailing and cursing.

And there, even as storm clouds blew in from the west, Owain saw Garth walking alongside Mórganthu and holding on to the old man's belt.

Merlin's frustration rose as the moments went by. What had just happened? Being nearly blind was tolerable during mundane activities, but it stretched his patience to breaking when important events rolled past all around him. And his father explained all too little.

Then someone called his name. “Merlinus! It is Uther speaking. As of this day, you are my servant. Take my sword and clean it.”

With a deep breath, Merlin let go of his father's reassuring shoulder and walked toward the voice until he stood before Uther.

“This weapon has served me well. Clean it, and I will receive your fealty.”

Merlin reached out his hands, palms open, and Uther placed the heavy blade there.

As Anviv's blood smeared from the sword onto Merlin's left hand, he felt dizzy, and the ground fell away from his feet. Everything in his weak eyesight turned to a soft whiteness, and waves of mist beat upon his face.

Upward he felt himself fly, and Uther's new sword became heavy. Merlin gripped its hilt with both hands but feared he'd lose his hold in the quickening rain.

Suddenly the rising motion ended, and he fell. With a great shock he crashed onto a hard surface. When Merlin opened his eyes, he found himself lying, wet and cold, at the edge of a small glade within a vast forest. And his eyesight was clear.

In the center of the glade stood a giant boar, grunting and snorting as he thrashed his feet in every direction to crush a mob that was attacking him. His massive bristled back reared eight feet high, his regal snout jutted two feet long, and along his flanks rippled muscles of incredible strength.

Merlin lay in awe, transfixed by the magnificence of the creature. Surely none like it existed in all creation. Outward from his mouth curved two tusks, each the length of Merlin's forearm. Each swipe crushed or impaled an attacker — but these weren't men!

Thousands of ratlike creatures, all carrying ropes and running on two legs. One belt-high creature scrambled past Merlin, its stinking fur coated in slime and a fang-toothed smile upon its face. Merlin watched in horror as they skittered around the boar, trying to bind his legs. The boar slew dozens of them, but for every one he slew, ten more took its place, and the boar was soon bound and cruelly stretched upon the forest floor.

Out from the shadows stalked a stranger, taller than Merlin, and he held a bronze sword. He was a beast in man's shape, with yellowed skin, and his nose almost as long as the rats'. His pupils were a goatlike horizontal shape, and from his jagged teeth hung strings of raw meat. Antlers grew from his skull, and his head was covered with a mane of thick, silver-green hair.

A forked tongue slithered in and out of his mouth, and he
turned to face Merlin. “Gettest thou gone, briiight one. Keep not Kernunnosss from his prey. It is I who claim the throne of the Lord of the Forestsss!”

Kernunnos jumped at the boar and drove his blade into his back.

The boar shrieked in mortal terror and thrashed wildly.

The fallen leaves became slick with blood.

Bile rose in Merlin's throat. He wanted the boar to escape and turn on these vile hunters. He pulled Uther's sword from where he had dropped it on the grass and tested it, sharpened to a deadly edge by his father just that morning. He stepped forward to save the boar.

By then Kernunnos had leaped around the great animal, and he lifted his bronze sword above the taut belly.

Merlin winced as he looked to the anguished face of the boar, who strangely was able to grunt the plaintive words of “Hhheelllppp. Hellpp maaay.”

It was Merlin's last chance. He ran forward and yelled, “Stop … You will not harm this creature!” A half-dozen rats died under his swinging blade, and the rest backed away. He jumped into the center and started to sever the rope holding down the boar's forelegs.

Before he could finish, however, Kernunnos ran toward him. “I warned youu, and ssso your flesh shall be feasssted as well!”

Their swords struck with a clang.

Again and again their blades met, and each time Kernunnos pushed Merlin back by the ferocity of his attack. Whenever Merlin tried to gain an advantage, his sword met either empty air or a slicing parry. Kernunnos pushed Merlin toward the rats, who now sported flint-tipped spears.

In desperation Merlin charged, but his foe jumped to the side.

Merlin tumbled to the ground with Uther's sword flying from his hand. In panic, he stretched out and touched his fingers to the hilt.

He was too late.

Kernunnos had planted his foot on the flat of the blade, and try as he might, Merlin couldn't wrench it free. The amber-colored
blade of his enemy jabbed toward Merlin's face, and the rats trussed him and hung him by his hands from a tree.

He kicked at the silent rats until he spied Kernunnos. Once again, the beast stood at the chest of the boar. This time he held Uther's sword.

“No!” Merlin yelled.

Kernunnos's goat eyes burned with glee. “You cannot ssstop mee, briight one, and now I use your own sssteel. There is only one Lord of the Foresssst, and I will have reeevenge!”

Uther's blade plunged into the boar, who squealed in agony and arched his bristled back to pull away, but in vain. He shook his head, and blood poured from his mouth.

Kernunnos slit the boar down the front, and the rats rushed in to gorge their appetites.

Merlin wept, yet through his tears he beheld an angel in a blinding white robe. He spoke, and his mighty voice shook the trees.

“B
EWARE EVIL
, M
ERLIN!”

The angel disappeared in a flash of light.

And Merlin's last memory before losing consciousness was Kernunnos slipping toward him through a haze. Before his face he held Uther's bloodstained sword pointing to the moon.

W
ith a start, Merlin found his blotched eyesight had returned. In his hands he still held Uther's sword. His arms throbbed as if he'd been holding it for hours.

“Merlin?” said a voice nearby. It was gravelly, and the person spoke slowly.

“I'm here.”

“It is I … Colvarth, and I hold a rag for you to clean the blade.”

Merlin felt a wet cloth touch his left hand. Taking it, he wiped down the sword until the metal felt clean and cold, finally drying it with the other end of the rag.

“Let us … take the blade to Uther, and when he is ready, he will … ask you to swear fealty.”

Thunder sounded in the distance as Colvarth took Merlin's arm and led him back to the Judgment Rock, where Uther again sat before the villagers.

Merlin held out the sword, hilt first, and Uther received it.

“My thanks, Merlin. You are dismissed for the moment.”

Colvarth directed him to a place on the grass next to Owain, who spoke to him. “Why the trouble cleaning Uther's sword? Are you well?”

“I have a heavy burden. I can't it explain now.”

Apparently he had missed some proceedings, for Abbot Crogen spoke. “And so, my lord, we ask for justice as well as help regarding the burning of our abbey.”

“Do you have witnesses against the druidow?”

“Yes, my lord. Two of our number witnessed three druidow lighting fire to the thatch roofs. Brother Melor and Brother Herrik, please step forward.”

Uther examined them, asking details of how they knew the torch wielders had been druidow. Then he called for other testimony.

To Merlin's surprise, his father stepped forward.

“Yes, my lord, I was here on the village green last night prior to the burning of the abbey, and three druidow wearing the same clothing the monks described lit torches in my presence and ran eastward toward the abbey.”

Uther asked a few more questions, then, apparently convinced by the answers, he dismissed Owain. “My judgment goes against Mórganthu and the druidow. Tregeagle, approach.”

The magister stood before the High King.

“Tregeagle … as I must meet Gorlas at Dintaga, I charge you to exact the equivalent of five gold coins from the druidow as recompense to the monks of Bosvenna Abbey. You may collect cattle, clothing, coins, or any other possession of theirs.”

“Assuredly, my lord, without delay.”

“That is well,” Uther said. “And to assure the good abbot of your faithful collection, I ask you to pay him now.”

Tregeagle gulped loudly. “Now, splendid lord?”

“Yes, of course. From your treasury.”

“But —”

Uther sat forward. “You are planning to make Mórganthu pay, are you not?”

“Yes, but —” Tregeagle stammered.

“Is there a problem?”

“Splendid lord … I did not bring such a sum.”

Uther stood, holding his new blade in the air as if he was inspecting it. “Assuredly you did.”

Merlin's father whispered. “He's taking his sword and slicing Tregeagle's belt …”

The belt fell ringing to the rock, and some of the coins rolled away.

Owain laughed. “Tregeagle's going to faint!”

“Take five and pay the good abbot.”

“My lord,” Crogen protested, “three would suffice.”

“Five,” Uther said. “You must purchase supplies as well as pay the workers. And this amount still does not cover the lost years of work on the Scriptures. There is
no price
that can be put on such labors.”

Tregeagle groaned as he knelt to pick up his severed belt and scrabble after the lost coins.

Merlin could imagine how red his face must be as the magister slowly stood and dropped the coins into the abbot's hand.

Tregeagle turned to leave, but Uther called him back. “Five. Your ability to count has grown stale, my magister.”

“Ah … yes, lord.” Tregeagle turned back to Crogen, dropped the final coin clinking into Crogan's hands, then stepped off the rock.

“God's blessings be upon you, my lord,” Abbot Crogen said once Tregeagle had gone.

Uther took a happy, babbling Arthur in his arms and sat down again. “Merlin, step forward so I may receive your fealty of servitude.”

Merlin let out his breath and bowed his head. How he wished that his father hadn't pledged him. Why now — right when the two of them had finally grown close? A few steps, a few words, and his life would change forever. There would be no going back. He would have to leave Bosventor, his friends, and his family. Was this really the penance that Merlin's father had to pay? Couldn't they work this out some other way?

Colvarth coughed next to him, and the moment of indecision passed. Would Merlin really become a bard?
A real bard?
He knew it would take years of training, but a sudden excitement coursed through his heart and danced down his arms to his fingertips. This was something he could do, even if he was blind. A faint strum of harp strings floated through his mind, and he saw a vision of himself wearing a finely made black cloak pinned with a silver brooch and standing before a king. The chieftains of Britain as well as those of the heathen Saxenow feasted before him, and all looked upon his countenance as he played a song of wisdom and power. It was a sad song — a song of treachery, deceit, and tragedy—but the truth of its notes shone forth like an unquenchable torch.

In his vision, Merlin gazed upon a handsome young man who stood nearby wearing leather armor laced with iron scales. He had dark hair, and he smiled devotedly at Merlin. The young man's face seemed familiar, but from where he didn't know.

The vision faded, and the blur of Uther's form appeared once again.

Colvarth placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you … ready, Merlin?” he asked.

Merlin nodded.

Colvarth led Merlin to the foot of Uther's bench, where he bowed and repeated the old man's words.

Merlin paused and swallowed before he said the last words.

As instructed by Colvarth, Merlin found Uther's boot and kissed the fresh-smelling leather lacing. Then, reaching up, he found the dangling boot of young Arthur, small yet strong. As he kissed it, he wondered what kind of man Arthur would become. His life was bound to the boy's now, for better or for worse. For a moment panic sprang up in Merlin's heart. So young — still just a babe, in fact. What if Arthur grew to be a tyrant of a man? What of Merlin's vow then?

Even as the question rose in his mind, his heart knew the answer. He would serve Arthur no matter what type of leader the prince became, but he would never compromise fealty to God, even if it cost him his life at Arthur's hand. Yet in the capable care of his parents and Colvarth, the boy might grow into a godly High King, and for that Merlin prayed.

Uther raised his hand. “I receive your fealty, Merlin. And may the Lord Jesu bless your future service. Know that as I carry the mercy of Christ, I also carry the sword of God's vengeance against all who do wrong, including oath breakers.”

Colvarth helped Merlin find his place on the grass before turning to the assembly. “Who will … likewise swear fealty, either to serve as a warrior to … fight the Saxenow or as a Briton grateful for the High King's … protection?”

Merlin saw a small number of blurry forms rise and step forward. His father, sitting next to him, spoke the names in Merlin's ear as each approached the Rock of Judgment. The monks. Allun the miller. Troslam and Safrowana. Kyallna the widow. Trevenna and Natalenya. And the char-man. Finally Merlin's father rose and went forward as well. But the rest of the villagers remained sitting on the grass, murmuring in angry whispers.

“No more?” Colvarth called. “Do you understand that … you refuse your High King?”

Lightning flashed, striking the Meneth Gellik, and thunder rolled down the hillside.

Uther handed his son to Igerna and stood. Merlin heard the ring of metal as the High King pulled his sword once more from his belt. With it in his hand, he limped back and forth on the rock, and his feet scraped against it each time he turned.

He uttered a curse and then spoke to the people. “You think your Druid Stone more important than your king. You think yourselves safe here on the moor, far away from the coastal raiders, and that you need me not.”

The people quieted as the anger of the king rose.

“You are wrong,” Uther said. “I have seen the babes gutted by our enemies, the Saxenow! I have seen fathers begging for bread with their eyes gouged and gone. I have rescued the men and women taken as Pictish slaves to the northlands. I protect you while you sleep in safety on your straw.”

The people murmured again, but no one else came forward to take the oath.

“Do you hear? I have just come from raising Kembry, and they have sent most of their men, food, and weapons. All they could spare, because they know how dire the threat is. And now I have come to raise Kernow, and in two days I will meet King Gorlas to receive his help. Who will fight with us? Stand, men! Stand and join the battle!”

Merlin felt a few raindrops fall as another lightning bolt split the sky. The explosion was deafening, and it seemed the world dimmed for a brief moment.

“Citizens,” Uther called. “I give you one last chance! But before I do, I will show you a goodly example. There is an expected individual who has not yet sworn fealty to me, and thus I call forward Tregeagle, who will show his fealty to the one who protects his subjects.”

Tregeagle shuffled forward and bowed upon the grass before the Rock of Judgment where the king stood. “Speak, splendid lord. What shall your servant swear?”

“We will begin with the usual. Proceed.”

“I beseech thee, High King,” Tregeagle began, “and deign thee to protect me even as I swear fealty to thee and thine heir.”

Uther paced. “That is good. Now, swear that you utterly reject and hold in contempt this foolish druid Stone. Ha! Swear to crack it in half the next time you set eyes upon it!”

But only the rising wind answered the High King.

“Speak!” Uther commanded.

“I cannot, my lord,” Tregeagle mumbled.

Uther's voice rose in mountainous anger. “What bewitchment is upon this village?”

Merlin suddenly felt all the hairs rise on the back of his neck, and his scalp felt as if scores of tiny worms crawled across it. The last time this happened was when Prontwon died.
The lightning!

Uther roared in fury, and standing on the very edge of the Rock of Judgment, he raised his sword straight up, ready to slash it down and kill Tregeagle.

“Stop!” Trevenna and Natalenya shrieked.

Merlin burst forward. Holding his staff level, he charged the dark form of Uther. Surprising the High King, Merlin struck him full on the side and upset his balance so that they both tumbled to the grass.

Immediately lightning struck at the same spot where the High King had stood.

Everyone was blown back by its force. Screams and shouts coursed from the villagers. Arthur cried.

Twice more it struck, slicing the sky like an angry whip. When the booming finally faded, the air itself tasted burnt.

Uther turned and tried to pull Merlin up by the shoulders, but Merlin refused to rise. “My lord, I expect your judgment for daring to strike you.”

“You saved my life.” Uther heaved Merlin up and laughed. “
Karo-Righ
I call you, Merlin. Not servant but friend of the king!” The High King then stooped to help his wife up, with the bawling Arthur in her arms, just as hail poured from the sky like countless angry bees.

The villagers scattered as Uther and his retinue ran toward the village meeting house.

“Tas?” Merlin yelled through the driving ice. “Where should I go?”

“With Uther,” Owain called. “I'll be at the smithy!”

Merlin felt Colvarth's hand on his arm, and together they made their way to the cramped meeting house. At the door someone jostled them from behind to get out of the hail.

“Vortigern,” Colvarth said. “I did not see … you following us.”