Merlin's Nightmare (The Merlin Spiral) (37 page)

Garth gulped and translated her words into Pictish.

Necton laughed at her. “Thusa ghivaive up yui!” he demanded.

“If you don’t let him go, I’ll hide these coins in a hole where you’ll never find them. But if you let him go, I’ll give them to you. If you conquer us, then you’ll get to kill him anyway.” And then her voice turned sarcastic. “Or are you so weak that you’re not able to capture us?”

Necton scowled when he heard the translation of these words and swore at her in Pictish.

Taliesin wanted to run down the stairs and hide. He couldn’t watch someone else die like this. His memories were still raw from seeing his great-uncle murdered.

Necton took his knife and cut open Garth’s robe . . . slicing his skin enough to make it bleed.

Natalenya screamed and threw the money down to him. “Let him go, you pig!”

Necton was frowning as he picked up the bag, but when he opened it he began to smile. At a motion from him, the guards let go of Garth and Necton kicked the monk forward.

Garth fell, cut his hands on the rocks, and crawled forward until he came to the foot of the wall.

“Get the rope!” Taliesin yelled to Withel, who retrieved it and came running. Caygek and Bedwir lowered it down and soon raised Garth to the parapet.

“Thank you!” Garth said again and again as he embraced his old friends.

Mother fussed over the cut on his stomach, and he waved her off.

“It stings, sure, but it’s not deep, and we have more important things to deal with.”

“Still, I’ll get an ointment for it right away.”

Tinga cleared her throat, and when she had Garth’s attention, she held the injured Gaff up to him. “Will you pleathe pray for my puppy?”

Garth smiled, wiped his bloody hands on his robe, and took Gaff up and cradled the puppy to his chest. “What’s his name?” Garth asked, looking at the puppy’s little face.

“It’s a she, and her name is Gaff,” Tinga said.

Garth placed a hand on the pup’s head and prayed:

I lift my prayer to the mighty power

To the almighty power of the One

To the almighty power of the Three

To heal and protect this creation:

Brave Gaff — dog o’ dogs and evil’s bane.

Then, to Taliesin’s confusion, he continued in a different language.

Lift I mo phraiyer ris am mhighty phoweir

Ris an tailmhighty phoweir an Oni

Ris an tailmhighty phoweir an Threhi

Airson healsa aind phrotectsa thish creishon:

Bhraive Gaifh — dogh doigshe aind eivil’s bhaine.

“What did you say?” Tinga asked.

“I prayed in our language first, and then in Pictish, but it was the same prayer.”

Taliesin drew his sword. “If you’re not a Pict, then why’d you pray like ’em? If a Pict comes here, I’ll kill him just like the other one.” And there was still blood on the blade, proving his words.

Garth kissed Gaff, who gave a little grunt. “Not all Picti are like Necton. I’ve a church up north in the village o’ Cathures. The people there have turned to God and are your brothers an’ sisters in the
Lord, and you should hear how beautifully they sing. Moreover, I’m goin’ back to that green valley once . . .”

But his words trailed off as a great booming filled the air. The parapet shook, and Taliesin almost lost his balance.

The Picti had brought the battering ram.

Taliesin sheathed his blade and took up a rock.

“It seems my stay’ll be short-lived,” Garth said.

All but Garth grabbed what rocks remained and began pelting them down on the enemy. Taliesin threw his, but they all bounced off the upturned shields and fell uselessly to the ground.

Boom!

The stone shook and they heard a crack in the doors below.

Boom!

And the great bar securing the door began to break.

“To the tower!” Bedwir called.

Taliesin looked out and saw behind those with the battering ram, the entire army of the Picti climbing the mountain. Some of them held torches while all of them carried glinting weapons. And they were chanting a dirge which the valley winds carried to the top of the wall. It seemed to Taliesin to say:
Slaves! Slaves! Slaves! Slaves . . .

Garth cradled his sack in one hand and put his arm over Taliesin with the other. Together they ran down the stairs, Mother and Tinga just behind. The others followed, and then Bedwir and Caygek helped carry Logan down the stairs — for he couldn’t walk, and the fearsome boils had thickened and swelled across his body.

Brother Loyt came running down just as the battering ram smashed through the center of the doors. Chunks of wood and splinters exploded outward.

Taliesin drew his sword, but Loyt grabbed him by the tunic and yanked him into the tower where all the others villagers had gathered.

Picti began to break down the fortress gate.

Everyone labored together to slam the massive tower doors and bang the double bars in place.

Outside, the yelling and cursing sounds of a Picti mob arrived, and they began to beat on the doors and hack at it with their blades.

Taliesin turned away from the doors, almost running into Tinga, who looked up at him with admiration.

He nodded to her and went to show Bedwir his bloody blade only to find Logan’s dead body blocking his way. His mouth hung open and his eyes had sunken into his head so that Taliesin was forced to look away.

From the level above came the sound of screaming, and a young girl ran down the stairs and flung herself into Mother’s arms. “Ten more got the sickness, an’ the others died!”

Boom! Crack!

The Picti brought their battering ram against the tower’s doors with shuddering force, causing dust to fall from the ceiling.

“Whath gonna happen?” Tinga asked, grabbing on to Taliesin’s belt.

“We’re goin’ to die,” he said, shaking his sword, “but we’re not goin’ down without a fight!”

Mórgana howled in rage as she looked out the north-facing window of her stone tower in Lyhonesse.

“Try once more,” Loth said, “and if it does nay work this time, then go there yoursel’ and tell Necton Two-Torc tae throw ’em from the cliff. You do want to see ’em dead, don’t you?”

She stamped her foot.

“Now, now, my granddaughter,” Mórganthu said. “Patience is required. Remember the Voice’s plan?”

“Don’t tell
me
of the plan, you fool. What I need to know is why I can’t inflict Natalenya with the disease.”

“The malevolent light must be stopping you,” Mórdred said. “Just as you told us it did before.”

“Yes, but I thought it had gone away. Now I can inflict anyone I choose, but neither Natalenya nor her children succumb.”

Loth leaned back upon his throne. “And dinna forget the two
warriors. Now, it is interestin’ to me that all o’ those that are immune happen to have been with Merlin the longest. Do you think those warriors were with him at my father’s temple?”

“Indeed, I think they were. As I recall, I arrived just in time to keep those two from cutting your throat.”

“Me? Hardly. Yet I still dinna understand how Merlin could destroy the whole temple and slay my father and his household as well.”

“He has a power that I do not understand.”

“Are you . . . are you afraid of him?” Mórganthu asked. “Dare I imagine that weakling of a brother scaring you? Ha!”

“No.” Mórgana pulled forth the orb and fang for one last attempt. She had slain as many as she could to devastate their defenses, but the effort had weakened her considerably. She had just enough strength for one more attempt. This time she would try the little girl, the one with the oh-so-cute little doggie. Mórgana smiled. She hated innocence, just as the Voice did.

She held up the orb and pointed it north, hoping the alignment would improve her chances. “Show me the girl — Natalenya’s daughter — heiress of Merlin, our enemy.”

Purple flames burst forth from the orb, and she looked inside to see a small, upturned face. The girl was leaning against her mother and stroking her puppy’s ear. And there was the horrible boy, blade in hand, snuggling in on her other side. The mother leaned back against the tower’s wooden wall with her eyes closed, yet she was mouthing some words to the children. The boy soon joined her and they spoke in unison.

Mórgana fished the fang from its sheath and held it near the orb until its green flame united with the purple of the orb’s. Loth, Mórdred, and Mórganthu began to chant, and she joined in. A thrill of power trickled into her arm, strengthening her for the task, for she felt so tired and empty after inflicting disease upon so many.

Finally, when the potent power of the fang was at its height, she touched it to the orb, yelling, “A curse on the girl child — a disease of death, a plague upon her flesh!”

A
rthur’s body clenched as Hengist brought the blade down, but the stroke never fell. The sharp edge of a sword slipped under Hengist’s chin, and the man faltered, his knife hand tense and the weapon quivering in the air just over Arthur’s chest.

Arthur squinted. A Saxen held the sword, and one of the man’s outlandish, muddy boots was planted right next to Arthur’s shoulder.

“Get off!” the Saxenow said.

Arthur jerked to see the man’s face, for he spoke like a Briton. What he saw took his breath away . . . Culann! Somehow he had come to be dressed as a Saxen, bare chest and all, and had slipped through the ranks of the enemy warriors to stand next to and watch Hengist’s fight with Arthur.

Another blade came to rest under Hengist’s nose, and Arthur saw someone from behind place one at the man’s back. It seemed Culann had not been the only Briton to survive the massacre of the archers.

“Drop it or you die,” Culann said.

Hengist looked out the corner of his eye at the edges of the swords, and then down at Arthur. Sweat had beaded on the man’s forehead, and his golden armbands reflected his panting mouth and teeth.

There was silence for the space of a few heartbeats before the enemy Saxenow stepped forward with their spears and swords pointed at Culann and his companions.

Culann tightened his sword against Hengist’s throat, eliciting a barked order from the Saxen king. His men backed off, muttering. Hengist dropped the knife to the dirt and slowly, ever so slowly, removed his fingers from Arthur’s throat, though the look of hatred remained on his face. Then he rose and backed away.

Arthur sucked in a few breaths. The smell of smoke was thicker now, but he barely registered it as he looked in wonder at Culann and then stood on shaking legs.

Shouts came from the back of the Saxenow horde, suddenly, and the ranks began to break, with men running everywhere and in complete confusion.

Finally Arthur saw it. From the distant hill, where he had attempted to burn the Saxenow supply wagons, came a roaring wall of flame and smoke.