Merlin's Nightmare (The Merlin Spiral) (51 page)

The other men set to, ripping up their tunics when they had no other choice. Each man brought his bundle to Gogi and Melwas, who applied the softened pitch to the arrows.

Gogi also prepared a number of torches specifically for lighting the arrows — one for every pair of men.

And yet they were barely ready by the time the wolf-heads appeared, howling upon the far shore and dragging boats and rafts down to the opposite bank.

“Tethion . . . take the best bowmen to the front!” Arthur called. “Everyone else, do not shoot until the wolf-heads are halfway across.”

“Wolf-heads?” Gogi asked. “I didn’t know ya were fightin’ wolf-heads! I thought ’twas the same warriors ya fought at Dinas Hen Felder!”

Arthur coughed and then nodded. “They are the very same.”

“Ahh,” Gogi said with a nervous laugh. “That’s a bite more serious. And, I suppose, it makes me even prouder ta have helped. And ’tis a good thing our horses and wagon are on the western shore of the marsh! We always hides ’em over there when we come on pilgrimage . . . No need fer a Brit to steal us out o’ home and horse, ya know.”

Arthur gave the word. Tethion and his men lit their arrows, nocked them, and let them fly across the marsh toward the wolf-heads on the far eastern shore. It was hard to see across the water, yet the moon gave Merlin just enough light, and he saw one of the wolf-heads get hit directly in the chest and go down.

The wolf-head shrieked and thrashed about as the burning pitch caught his tunic on fire.

Tethion and the archers lit new arrows and launched them, but this time none of them found their mark, and two fell short and plunked hissing into the water.

Merlin had hoped the arrows would light fires on the far shore, but the land exposed by the receding marsh didn’t have quite enough vegetation amidst its mud and gravel.

By now the first wave of wolf-heads had launched a set of boats, with more preparing just behind them. Eight boats were coming, with four or five wolf-heads in each, and they all paddled with flat boards chopped from the trunks of trees so that they didn’t need to touch the water.

The archers shot again, and one arrow struck a boat directly in the prow. There were four wolf-heads onboard, and the foremost leapt backward, knocking another into the water, and he screamed and thrashed in terror.

As the boats rowed closer, the archers fired again, but the only arrow that hit did so in the cloak of a wolf-head, and he flung it into the water before it could catch fire.

All the while Merlin could see the beast — the red-furred werewolf with glowing, yellow eyes striding up and down the far shore, now hunched and clawing the earth, and next standing to roar out guttural, barking commands to his cohort of wolf-heads.

Onward the wolf-heads paddled through the flaming missiles. Only a few hit, setting two boats on fire. This sent the wolf-heads into a furious roaring as they fought each other to get away from the flames. Some fell into the water.

Merlin lit an arrow of his own now.
How easily the creatures could put the flames out if only they weren’t afraid of touching the water!

The other six boats drew closer, and behind them a new set had launched. Tethion and his archers shot at the far boats, while the other men aimed closer in.

Merlin set his sight on a boat, and then adjusted his bow upward to account for the distance. He let his arrow fly, and though it flew fast and straight with roaring flames, his shot landed in the marsh just beyond the boat.

Another, and another arrow he shot — both missing. The last came so close, however, that it would have struck a wolf-head in the shoulder if the creature hadn’t ducked.

The others nearby were more successful, and six wolf-heads jumped screaming into the water after being struck and having their clothing catch fire. Another boat was also set aflame, but the wolf-heads on board used their paddles to splash water up to wet the wood and keep it contained.

Faster they paddled, and soon they were only moments from shore. Sweat dripped down Merlin’s forehead, and he felt the blood pulse in his neck.
They can’t come ashore! They cannot!

He lit three arrows simultaneously and shot them off in quick succession, one striking a wolf-head in the neck, and another in the forearm.

Ten wolf-heads leapt onto shore . . . and Merlin had only time to let one more arrow fly, missing.

He handed his arrows to the man beside him, dropped his bow and pulled out his dirk. Grabbing a torch with his free hand, he ran at the wolf-heads, yelling. Others did the same, including Arthur, while many held back, readying arrows.

Please
,
let the archers be quick!

Three men died instantly, the wolf-heads lunging past their weapons and ripping out their throats.

A wolf-head with dark brown fur across its face attacked Merlin. The creature ran forward, flipped through the air, and landed next to him with its teeth snapping.

Anger surged through Merlin, and he slammed the flaming torch at its maw. “No!” he yelled, jabbing the dirk toward its chest.

The wolf-head yowled, bit the torch lower down, and yanked it out of Merlin’s hand.

Merlin backed up and swung his dirk to keep the beast back.

A flaming arrow punctured the creature’s ribs just below its armpit. The wolf-head screamed and fell to its knees, grabbing at the shaft and trying to pull it out.

Merlin turned to find another wolf-head to fight, but . . . every one on the island was either dead or was thrashing on the ground with arrows piercing its flesh.

A small cheer went up along the shore, but it was short lived. More wolf-heads were paddling across, this time with ten larger boats, holding at least six wolf-heads each.

Arthur ordered every man to either collect fallen arrows or to move forward with their bows. Soon they formed a great line along the shore, and Arthur instructed them to only shoot when the creatures were closer. Too many arrows had already been lost, and they couldn’t afford to waste them. Gogi, Gwenivere, and Gwenivach ran behind them and replaced the fading torches with fresh ones for lighting the arrows.

This time, not a single wolf-head made it to the shore in any shape to fight.

On the opposite side, the remaining wolf-heads hesitated in launching a new flotilla of rafts. Were they afraid? Why did they wait?

Merlin dropped to his knees on the gravel and gave a short prayer of thanks, caught his breath, and steeled his soul, if that were possible, for whatever might come next.

Mórgana rolled her eyes when she heard Mórganthu and Loth curse. Yes, the wolf-heads who had attacked the island had failed and died. Didn’t her grandfather know anything? Didn’t Loth trust her?

But Mórdred was silent beside her, and his face showed sternness without despair. A boy after her mother’s heart — did he understand what was at stake? What the true plan was? The four of them stood behind a thick stand of pines watching the proceedings, and oh how she wished she were close enough to see Merlin’s face when he learned what she had planned next.

“Loth!” she said. “Tell the warriors to bring the wagon forward.”

“Is that wise, my queen? They canna do much against Arthur and his men — ”

“Of course. And afterward you must go to the rendezvous point and hide. The appointed wolf-heads may need to be reminded of their final task. Now do as I command.” And she snapped her fingers.

Loth bowed and ran off into the dark.

She leaned against the pine and imagined what would happen, unable to suppress a wild grin at the thought. Her foes had all been such simpletons, hadn’t they? Did they really dream that they could escape the grasp of the all-seeing Druid Queen? She could predict exactly what Merlin would do. For she knew her brother — heart, mind, and soul.

Oh, yes, it was true that the Voice’s older plans had been thwarted, yet just as he had promised, it only sweetened the final victory tonight and made it more sure.
Hah!

Turning to Mórganthu, she took his hand and patted it. “Go now . . . you and Mórdred must prepare a place for our guest.”

“But I want to watch,” Mórdred said, creasing his brow.

“The other side of the mountain is not far, and it is too dangerous for either of you here. We must be ready when the moment arrives, true?”

Mórganthu nodded. “I know . . . know very little of this
moment
you speak of, but I will obey.”

“Do you remember our other guest . . . the one we caught last night? Make sure he has not escaped. This will be the grandest pleasure of all. Loth and I will join you both very soon.”

“We will do as you say.” Mórganthu bowed and limped off into the night, leaning upon Mórdred and mumbling to the young lad.

Soon she heard the wagon rumbling from the north. Loth didn’t see her at first, and so she stepped out to meet it. The horses whinnied in dread to be so near the wolf-heads, but Mórgana gave a singsong and stroked their cheeks, putting them into a stupor. Leaving the horses to loll in their sleep, she walked to the back of the wagon where her prisoners lay — tied up and brought here just for this occasion.

Her army of wolf-heads turned to see what this new thing was, and Gorlas himself, her werewolf, came lumbering over. His claws hung low to the ground, and saliva dripped from his teeth as he sniffed the nearest prisoner.

“What do you think?” Mórgana asked him. “Shall we make a snack of them?”

The werewolf looked at her with his wild, agitated eyes and snarled. With one claw, he scratched at the side of the wagon.

“Not yet . . . and if that time comes, you must only eat a little. You don’t want to be slowed down in the fight, do you?”

The werewolf roared at her and snapped his teeth.

“Back!” she yelled. “You have a special task to do. Do you remember it, my
Gourvlyth
. . . my Gorlas?”

The werewolf looked at her menacingly, his nose twitching and his fangs bared.

She reached into the bag at her waist, pulled out her green, glowing fang, and raised it threateningly before him. “Do you need
help
remembering? At the utter end of the fight, what must you do?”

At the sight of the fang, he cowered down, nodded, and slowly backed away.

“Good. And do not forget . . . you must conduct the entire battle
exactly
as I have instructed you. No matter what happens,
you must obey me.
And if you do not, I will release Gorlas’s soul from the orb and then you will be thrown out of the world once more. Do you want that?”

The werewolf shook his head.

Now it was time for Mórgana to select which prisoner. Ah, what fun. Who should she choose? A warrior? One of the young? They could all serve her purpose, and Merlin would know the truth no matter who she chose. But why not the one prized by both Merlin and Arthur? Yes, the one whom she had failed to slay before.

Mórgana climbed up into the wagon, found the one she sought, and undid the gag. Natalenya’s long, dark hair had covered her face, and Mórgana pushed it back to reveal defiance set deeply in the woman’s eyes and lips stiff with rage.

No matter . . . that look won’t last long.

“You’ll not break me!” Natalenya said.

Mórgana laughed. “You are
so
dimwitted — even if you were rather clever at Dinas Crag. You may have escaped from my gullible and fearful Picti by piling diseased bodies on the lower level of your fortress, but you cannot escape me, especially when you foolishly flee to your mother — so close to the center of my power! Know this, ridiculous girl, that I captured you on the shore of Dinas Camlin for an entirely different purpose than you could
ever
imagine.”

She untied Natalenya’s legs and arms and lifted her to a standing position within the back of the open wagon.

“Where am I?”

“Are your eyes so dull that you cannot recognize the land of your childhood? You are north of Bosventor. Before you lies the marsh, and within it, Inis Avallow.”

“Those men on the island . . . is that . . . ?”

“Yes,” Mórgana said, her voice turning sarcastic. “It is your precocious Arthur and your beloved Merlin leading powerful, well-armed warriors. They are ready to liberate these lands, but we can’t let them do that now, can we?”