Merlin's Blade (26 page)

With that he disappeared.

Uther's knee suddenly felt no pain, and his tongue loosed. He jumped up, almost knocking Colvarth over. “Did you not see him?”

“Arthur is … outside, my king.”

“The man, dressed in blue.” Uther looked up again to the top of the tower. The angled daylight filtered through the bones of the roof, and the empty window sat like an eye to the outside. Nothing else could be seen. No floor to stand on. No metal hung there to reflect sunlight to onlookers.

Nothing. So what
had
he seen? The flash of light from before, this he could have imagined. But twice now he'd seen the man in blue. What of him?

The ground! The man had descended through the ground.

Uther swallowed a long draught from the mead skin and then felt dizzy for a moment. Soon the feeling passed, and he sank to his knees at the spot where the sign of the cross had been only moments before and dug frantically in the soft soil with his knife. “Colvarth, bring Igerna and the children. Bring them here!”

Waking with great shivers, Garth looked up into the eyes of Caygek, who bent over him with concern on his face, his long blond beard almost touching Garth's nose.

The druid's hand brushed dirt from Garth's forehead. “Are you unharmed?”

Garth blinked.

“Why are you so white?” Caygek asked. “I saw you go into Mórganthu's tent. Something there scare you?”

Garth shook his head, then changed it to a nod.

“You hollered. No one else paid any mind — too much talk about tonight. But those who keep their ears open get to question the thief. So … did you see Trothek?”

Garth nodded again, this time firmly.

Caygek's eyes became soft. “He was my friend, and I'm sorry you had to see him that way. The arch druid killed him when the moon was under the foot of the Druid constellation, perhaps twelve days ago. Slit his throat and cut off his head before us all.”

“Why?” Garth croaked.

“Because Trothek opposed his plans,” Caygek answered. “It's painful to think about, but it's exactly what a warrior does with his enemy. Doesn't Mórganthu gain Trothek's wisdom by keeping his head?”

Garth had heard of such practices but never imagined it could happen here in Bosventor. Sitting up, he pulled the coil of rope to his chest. “I've got to go! Mórganthu's waitin'.”

“Then go, but come back, and we'll talk some more.”

Garth stood up, shaking.

“Garth.”

“Yes?”

“Beltayne is tonight, and I must warn you of what Mórganthu might do. Fifty of our number just left at his orders, and I don't know on what mischievous errand. We have to be careful. Stick with me, and I'll keep you safe and look after you. A few of us will be waiting at the big pine beyond the ridge. Do you know the place?”

Garth nodded, then walked off through the woods with the heavy rope draped over his shoulder. With each step closer to Mórganthu and the stone circle, he envisioned the arch druid's hand tightening the rope around his neck. He was nigh to blubbering when he finally arrived.

“Stop! Stop your crying!” Mórganthu yelled.

Garth closed his eyes, but a few more choked moans escaped his lips.

Moments later he felt the sting of the arch druid's hand across his cheek. “Such a slug, you cannot even bring rope without crying! And here I have a special job for you.”

Garth swallowed. Wherever he looked, Trothek's ghastly face floated before him.

“Garth! Look at my personage. Did you not grow up learning to handle a boat?”

“Y-yes.”

“And are you not familiar with the marsh?”

“A little … sure.”

“Which parts, would you say?”

“Well … close to the village, anyhow.” As he thought of the marsh and his few but wonderful times fishing there, the image of Trothek faded.

“Are you familiar with Inis Avallow? The island with the tower?”

N
atalenya's proposal bothered Merlin. “Are you sure you're willing to get Allun's mule alone?” Yes, he had asked her for the second time, but he had to be sure.

“If you're wondering whether I can handle it, I've hitched up my father's horses many times, and I drive them myself whenever my mother and I go out alone.”

Dybris finished putting on one of Merlin's old tunics to replace his monk's robe. “But this is a dangerous night to be out alone. We've all planned for Merlin to go with you, and he's more than willing.”

“I insist,” Natalenya said. “Merlin is needed more at the circle of stones than in the dusty old mill hitching up a mule.”

What Merlin found the most agonizing was wondering whether she was still mad at him after he had fumbled her hints at marriage. What a fool he'd been. What he wouldn't give to tell her how he really felt.

“Fine,” Dybris said as he opened the door and stepped through. “We'd better go, then.”

Owain joined him outside, but Merlin hesitated.

“Here … will you wear my torc?”

“Why?” she said, her voice softening. “It's a gift to you from —”

“The druidow will recognize me with it on.” Truly, though, he just wanted her to keep thinking of him. “And let me lend you this … It's a small knife my father made for Ganieda.”

“You think I'll need it? I can run pretty fast, you know.”

“Just in case.”

Before taking the blade from him, she pressed both of her hands around his. “You'll be careful?”

“Yes. And you?”

She nodded, and Merlin saw the motion by the light of the lamp. And her hands felt good — small but strong. The only hand he could properly compare them to was his younger sister's, since he couldn't remember his mother's and had never held Mônda's. And yet Natalenya's hands weren't like his sister's. Ganieda's were thin, almost frail, always wiggling and cold, but Natalenya's hands firmly and purposefully held his, and the warmth spread up his arm until he began to sweat.

“You'll leave after you eat? Tas set out a mug of blueberry-leaf tea for you, as well as some oatcakes.”

“Thanks.”

“Well, the tea is a bit tart, and the oatcakes are dry. You can have some smoked meat —”

She laughed, finally taking the blade. “I'll be fine.”

Outside Dybris coughed, and Merlin paused awkwardly on the threshhold, then he turned, closing the door behind him. As he joined his father and the monk, he heard her drop the bar in place to secure the door.

Merlin was glad she was going to rest and eat, for she hadn't had a meal since morning and had grown more weary the longer they discussed their plan. But though her hands had trembled,
she'd never wavered in her intent, and Merlin respected her mettle. Whatever her father was, Natalenya was of quality, something Merlin was beginning to understand.

As the men began their journey, Merlin put a hand on his father's shoulder so they could keep a better pace, but Owain grumbled at him. “Tell me again — why are we going to the Stone?”

“Because we need to destroy it.”

“This is madness,” his father said, and Merlin could imagine his scowl.

“You agreed to the plan.”

“But I don't have to like it.”

Was his father afraid of the Stone? Deep down, Merlin certainly was. Were they all fools?

Dybris, who always seemed hopeful, joined in the conversation. “Come now, the plan is simple. Have faith, my friend.”

Owain pushed Dybris away and walked faster. “I do this only for my wife and daughter.”

“I know what we wish to do is not without great risk, but we do it for the villagers as well. For Prontwon's memory, and for Garth. I didn't mean to anger you.”

“I'm not angry. I just don't have much hope.”

Is there hope?
Merlin wondered.

Dybris stopped talking, and since Owain tended to like silence, Merlin said nothing either. Soon they dropped in at the miller's shop. Allun barely looked up when they made their request for Natalenya to borrow his mule. A large grindstone lay across two wobbling benches, and the miller was studiously dressing the stone using a long metal file.

“We're going to disguise ourselves as druidow,” Dybris explained. “Natalenya will visit in a bit to hitch the mule to Owain's wagon and hide in the woods. Merlin, Owain, and I will sneak into the druid camp and steal the Stone. Then we'll destroy it, and its enchantments will be gone forever.”

Allun swung aside the thick timber boom so he could see them
better. “Surely you jest,” he said, filing away and making the benches wobble. “You're not going to meddle with that pagan Stone, are you?”

Merlin hoped the miller wouldn't now recant his permission to use the mule.

“I agree,” Owain said, “it's a foolhardy —”

But Dybris cut him off. “We have to free the people.”

“Well, that'd be a good deed,” Allun said. “Hardly a soul's been by to grind since that Mórganthu showed up. Thought I'd take the posey time and get the grinders workin' better.”

Merlin's father bent down and looked under the benches. “Hey,” he said, “the nails in your benches have worked themselves almost completely out. I wouldn't do much more without hammering ‘em back in.”

“Ah, they do that every time. I'll hammer ‘em back in after I'm done tonight.” He stood and banged his head on the boom. “Ow! Drat that timber. I keep pushin' it away, and it keeps swinging back.”

“So … may Natalenya borrow your mule?” Merlin asked.

“Sure, nothin' to grind anyway. Plewin's in the back field eatin' her favorite spring blossoms. Get her anytime. Jus' bring her back when you're done.”

Thanking the miller, the three left and walked uphill toward Troslam and Safrowana's house. Merlin felt increasingly uneasy and wondered if they were being followed. Perhaps the man who had spied on them earlier at the house was still on their trail. He asked his father and Dybris to keep a lookout for anyone suspicious, but they saw no one. Then Merlin realized why he felt so uneasy, and he motioned for them to stop.

“What?” Dybris asked.

“All the villagers are gone. Listen. It's too quiet. Do you see any smoke?”

“Except for Troslam's house up the hill and the mill, no. And none of the crennigs have a fire lit.”

They hastened up the hill, and Owain banged on the weaver's door. “Troslam!”

Merlin heard the sliding of wood before the door jerked open.

“Shah, Owain! You needn't scare us.” The weaver's voice held an anxious tone.

When Merlin shook the man's hands an old memory flashed before Merlin — the weaver was tall with a golden beard.

Troslam turned to Dybris and with an exclaimation, fell to his knees. “Brother Dybris! I didn't recognize you without your robe and with your face bruised. I thought —”

“What?”

“I thought you'd been taken away!”

“Taken?”

Troslam practically sputtered. “The druidow came, not more than half an hour ago, with knives and spears, and took the brothers away.”

Dybris sucked in a breath.

“They surrounded the chapel and broke the door in. Led them away, with the villagers following. Taken to that awful Stone, I'd guess.”

Merlin closed his eyes in disbelief, and Dybris grabbed onto his shoulder for support.

“Inis Avallow?” Garth asked. Mórganthu's question seemed odd. “Yes, Ard Dre. Even I know where
that
is.”

“Well, my warriors do not, and I want you to lead them through the marsh. We have procured two boats from fishermen who ply their trade on its northern waters, and this works well, for we do not want you to be seen passing through the village, nor do I want you stumbling through Uther's camp.”

Only then did Garth notice all the Eirish warriors standing around. That beast McGoss glared at him through those dark-slitted eyes of his.

“Are … you sure, Ard Dre? Can't someone else lead ‘em?”

Mórganthu raised a hand.

Garth flinched, imagining a flashing knife. “I'll lead ‘em! Don't —”

Mórganthu brought his hand down and smiled warmly. “When you come back, I will let you have some of those strawberries you begged me for last night. Would you like that?”

“No! No, sir!” Garth shook his head wildly.

Mórganthu's eyes narrowed. “And why not? They have come all the way from Brythanvy.”

“I … I … wouldn't want to spoil me supper.”

“Yes, yes, a glorious feast tonight. I nearly forgot in my, shall we say, anticipation.”

With a druid leading them, Garth and the Eirish warriors had set off at once. At first Garth walked in the middle of the group, but unable to keep up, he soon found himself trailing behind.

McGoss joined him. “Keep yer lips tight,” he hissed. “Let on about me an' the ard dre talkin' secret, an' I'll stick ya.” He lifted his cloak, and underneath glinted a long notched dagger.

Garth swallowed and nodded. He tried to catch up to the others, but McGoss yanked him back. “Keep close.”

Northward they marched over the hills. At one point they walked by a path leading down to the right, which Garth recognized as the way to the char-man's camp. If only he were with Merlin now, fetching coal, instead of with these foreign warriors. If only he still had his bagpipe.

McGoss poked him in the back. “No laggin'.”

Soon they turned down the hillside to the stream and forded it at a shallow spot where some old tin dredgers lay on the bank. From there they cut westward across the hills until they came to the northern reaches of the marsh. Their druid guide uncovered the two boats hidden among the reeds and then returned to camp, leaving Garth alone with the warriors.

One of them put a hand on Garth's shoulder. “So welcome, little druid. I'm named O'Sloan, and now it's yer turn to lead.”

“To the island?” Garth asked.

“Aye. And back. But there's a mist rising, so ya better be a good scout.”

“Navigator.”

“Whate'er. Jus' don't get lost, aye?”

They split into two groups, with McEwan, McGoss, and Garth in the first boat, and the others in the second.

Garth saw why he'd been picked to lead them: these men knew nothing about boats, made clear from facing the wrong way to not knowing how to use the oars. And the huge McEwan nearly tipped over their boat and dumped Garth in the water.

“We're
kern
warriors, fightin' men, ya see,” O'Sloan called. “We know horses — but we taint taken time for silly boats.”

They arranged themselves in the dinghies, then Garth demonstrated the action of the oars to McEwan and to O'Sloan in the other boat. After a few tries O'Sloan figured it out, but the giant made Garth's boat turn in circles.

“I'd rather paddle wit' me hands!” McEwan declared, and Garth bit his tongue to keep his comments private until the oaf picked up the habit.

Garth directed them southward into the slow central current of the marsh. The fog had thickened considerably, but he found solace in the fact the island was nearly impossible to miss, even in the creeping darkness.

“An' why're we goin' to Inis Avallow?” Garth asked.

From the back of the boat, McGoss's eyes were like icy daggers.

“To catch a little mouse,” McEwan said, and his laughter boomed across the marsh.

“Shash-en!” someone called from the other boat.

McEwan clamped his lips shut.

“No, really, what are we doin'?” Garth asked.

“Ya mean ya don't know?” McEwan turned his head to look at Garth and smiled, his large teeth gleaming through the mist. “We're goin' fer revenge on the High King.”

Still getting over the shock of Troslam's news, Merlin considered their situation while Dybris prayed silently for the safety of the brothers.

Owain waited until the monk said his amen before speaking. “Does this change our plans at all?”

“Are you backing out?” Dybris asked.

“Never. But it's just not as simple now.”

“We need to free the brothers as well,” Merlin said.

Safrowana appeared and grasped their hands in greeting. When she saw Merlin's arm, she gasped. “What happened?”

“It's not that bad —” Merlin began.

“Imelys, fill a bowl from the water bucket and bring a rag,” Safrowana called. “Yes behind the drying rack … That's it.”

The girl brought her mother the bucket and watched Safrowana clean the wound while Merlin described the scuffle with the wolves.

“The cuts aren't deep, like you said. But they sure gave me a fright.”

“As if there isn't enough to be fightened about.” Imelys said.

Owain stepped over to their hearth and took a deep sniff. “Always glad to walk into a house where goat-leek soup is simmering over a slow fire.”

Only then did Merlin notice the pleasant aroma that filled the room.

“You'll have to excuse our blacksmith,” Dybris said. “I can personally attest that this man hasn't eaten a warm meal in quite a few days.”

At this, someone short stepped into the room from the back of the house.

“Kyallna,” Owain called. “I didn't expect to see you here.”

“Came ‘cause o' the troubles last night,” she said, hobbling across to join them. “Brought the soup along. Help yourself!”

She reached up and pinched Merlin's cheek. “If you see that
chubbins Garth, tell him I've got some more soup. He's welcome. Such a dear, sweet one, that boy.”

Merlin smiled at the old woman. “Thank you, Kyallna. I'll certainly tell him about your offer if I see him.” He placed an arm around her shoulders and addressed Troslam. “With your permission, we'd like to borrow some dye.” And then he spoke at length of their plan.