The Fire King (30 page)

Wren was looking around frantically.

“Where is he?” Emily shouted.

“He was here only a moment ago,” Merlin replied, struggling to be heard over the roar of the flames.

Emily looked around in despair. She could see in Merlin's eyes that he thought Jack already dead.

“We don't have time,” Merlin shouted. “Not if we are to stop this from spreading.”

“You already said you don't know if you can stop it!” she screamed. “I won't leave Jack behind!”

A small alleyway opened off to their right. The salamanders climbed the wall of the building on one side, leaping across the gap to land on the thatched roof opposite. In seconds, the building was ablaze.

Wren hurried over to Emily. He leaned close to her ear and shouted, shielding them both from the flames with his arm. “You'll die here if you don't move,” he screamed. “I know it's painful, but we must leave, Emily!”

And then Emily saw a shadow behind the flames that now draped across the small alley like a curtain. She stared at it a moment before realizing it was growing darker and darker. Her eyes widened.

“Move!” she shouted, pushing a rather startled Wren aside. He staggered away, Emily quickly following. And just in time, two massive horses leapt over the flames and landed directly where they had been standing. The first horse's hooves struck sparks as the rider yanked the reins, guiding the horse quickly away from the heat and the smoke. The second horse was attached to the first by a length of rope. It moved forward and the rider leaned forward to pat its neck.

It was Jack.

“Jack!” shouted Emily, struggling (and failing) to keep the joy from her voice. She tried to sound firm. “Did you steal those horses?”

He grinned down at them. “No. I
saved
them. There's a difference. Now. Who wants a ride?”

William, Corrigan, and Katerina had retraced their steps through the fey prison and along the tunnel that led back to St. Sepulchre. After that it had only been a matter of cutting an almost direct line east through the city as they traveled the one and a half miles to the Tower of London.

The fire hadn't reached this far north, but they could still see it in the distance, still smell the choking smoke, still hear the screams and curses of the Londoners. They passed plenty of them as well, pushing wheelbarrows filled with belongings, carrying children on their backs. They all had one thing in common: a confused, dazed expression on their faces, as if they couldn't believe this was actually happening to them.

William breathed a sigh of relief when the imposing stone walls of the Tower of London came into view. It wasn't just the tower, of course. The tower itself was simply one of many structures inside the walls of the fortifications. They slowed as they approached. The gates to the tower enclosure were wide open. He could see some men pushing wide barrows covered with blankets. A tall man was shouting at them to hurry and catch up with the others.

Of course, thought William. Weren't the crown jewels held here? And he was sure there were other valuables, as well. This must be the last of the trips to protect anything of value from the approaching fire.

The wide barrows trundled through the gates and turned north into the city. The gates were left open behind them, so they had no trouble slipping inside. A second wall confronted them, with a smaller gate set into the thick stone. It was also open. They hurried through and finally found themselves within the walls of the Tower of London.

A wide sward of grass lay before them, receding into the darkness. The grass was dotted with houses and buildings. It looked as though hundreds of people lived here. But within the entire enclosure there was only one building that could be the actual tower.

William stared up at it, outlined against the dark sky. It actually wasn't really a tower. It looked more like a castle—a huge, square structure with four turrets reaching into the sky above the battlements.

They hurried across the grass. The building stretched almost a hundred feet above them, an imposing fort with gaping black windows that stared down at them. The door to the tower was raised high off the ground, reached by a set of wooden stairs. They hurried up the stairs and tested the door. It was unlocked, and it led into a corridor brightly lit by torches. William opened the first door he came to and saw bags of flour piled up against the walls. Another door revealed casks of wine, and yet another folded linen stacked neatly onto shelves.

“Excuse me for asking,” said Corrigan, “but what exactly are we supposed to do here? That journal was rather vague.”

William hesitated. He wasn't sure himself. He had been rather hoping an answer would present itself when they arrived. Where were they supposed to speak the words of the spell?

There was a set of stairs at the end of the corridor. Maybe there was something on the other levels of the tower? He ran up to the second floor. The doors here led into richly furnished apartments and bedrooms. But there didn't seem to be anything that would help him. What had he been expecting? A shrine? A crypt with an inscription that read here lies the raven king?

That would have been nice, but when was life ever as simple as that?

He kept looking. And it was only when he opened a door at the far end of the passage to find a chapel that he thought maybe life
was
as simple as that after all.

William stepped inside. Arched windows let in the flickering orange light of the fire. Thick pillars circled the walls, linked together to create high stone arches that surrounded an empty space in the center of the room.

William looked around hopefully. Maybe this was the place? A chapel made sense. Maybe there was a hidden crypt somewhere that held the Raven King, and he would wake up when the incantation was recited.

William took the journal from his pocket and opened it to the relevant page. He cleared his throat and read:

“Acht'in segara. Betan mie alora ti. Vitaj'kel, amata yi.”

William finished reading and stared dubiously at the book. It didn't seem much of a magical spell, did it? What did it even mean? What language was it?

He waited. Nothing happened. The orange light of the fire seemed to have grown brighter, the fiery light pulsing against the walls. Maybe he had he read it wrong?

“You'd better see this,” said Katerina, appearing at the door.

William turned, but Katerina had already disappeared. He hurried after her, following her up a winding staircase that led to the battlements and out into the night air. William had a brief hope that maybe the Raven King had awoken somewhere in response to his words and was already battling the Fire King, but one look at Corrigan's face told him this wasn't so.

He joined the piskie and Katerina and stared out over London. From here he could get a clear view of the fire, could see the extent of the damage to the area of the city to the north of London Bridge.

“Look there,” said Corrigan, pointing to the east, then to the north, areas the fire hadn't touched yet.

For a few seconds William couldn't see anything untoward. But then he saw figures moving in the darkness, streaming through the streets in their direction. It was fey. All kinds of them.

And they were all armed.

“Are they coming for us?” he whispered. “How could they know what we are doing?”

Corrigan shrugged. “The question is, do we stay and try and raise this Raven King, however we're supposed to do that, or do we get out while we can?”

“We can't run,” said William. “Not after all we've been through.”

“Have you tried it yet?”

William looked away.

“Didn't work, did it?”

William didn't reply. He gazed out over London and noted something flitting through the sky. He squinted against the smoke that was hanging over the city. It was those white ravens, swooping above the approaching fey, hundreds of them gliding through the darkness.

“Look over there,” said Katerina urgently.

She was pointing toward the fire. As they watched, the flames seemed to shift, as if blown on a wind. Except there wasn't any wind blowing in that direction. The roaring conflagration funneled through the city streets toward the Tower.

“It's coming for us,” said Katerina.

It was then that William saw the two horses. They were galloping ahead of the flames, turning corners, skidding into alleys. As he watched, the fire switched direction, leaping across a thatched roof in an attempt to catch them.

“It's not,” said William, puzzled. “The fire is after those horses.”

They watched the distant horses as they tried to outrun the flames. But the fire seemed to anticipate their movements. It split and curved around buildings, leaping from roof to roof, leaving blazing trails in its wake. The horses disappeared from view every now and then, the buildings obscuring their vision as the animals tried to frantically shake off their pursuer.

When the horses next appeared, they were much closer. So William was able to see the figures on the first creature's back. He stared in shock.

“That's Emily,” he said softly.

It was. It was Emily and Christopher Wren on the first horse, Jack and another person on the second. The horses were flagging, moving slower and slower as the frantic rush through the city took its toll. But still they kept going, turning into side streets, doubling back on themselves, trying everything possible to shake the stalking flames.

But nothing worked. The flames kept getting closer.

They were getting closer to the tower, and it was obvious to all who watched that this was their destination.

Jack turned his horse into the final wide road that led straight to the gates, the road the three of them had used only half an hour earlier. Jack sighted the gates and tried to coax an extra burst of speed from the horse. It must have sensed that that end was in sight, as it renewed its efforts, stumbling into a clumsy canter. Emily followed suit. The flames raced along the rooftops on either side of them, leaping, snaking across thatch and wood, slowly pulling ahead of the horses despite their best efforts. The flames arrived at the end of the street and poured from the rooftops like a waterfall of lava, pooling then flaring up into a wall, trying to block off the exit to the street.

The flames pulled together, closer, closer. They were five meters apart. Three. Then two.

Jack dug his heels in, and William could hear him screaming at the horse. The horse bunched its muscles and leapt, sailing over the flames and landing on the other side. There was the briefest of pauses, then the second horse burst through, an instant before the two sides touched together, blocking off the street.

William felt the tension rush from his body. He thought he heard Corrigan mutter
“yes!”
but wasn't sure. The horses galloped through the gates and onto the tower grounds, heading straight in their direction. William watched the fire for a second longer. It had stopped moving now. He wondered why it wasn't trying to follow Emily and the others.

But then he saw the army of fey marching along the road outside the walls, heading straight toward the gates.

That was why. The Fire King didn't want to burn his allies.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-SEVEN

In which Emily and William are reunited and all take refuge in Merlin's workshop.

W
hen Emily saw William appear at the top of the stairs leading into the White Tower, she stumbled to a halt and stared in shock. She wondered if she was seeing things, if their escape from the flames hadn't addled her brain. But then Corrigan appeared, grinning ear to ear.

“Kept him safe for you, Snow,” he shouted. He thumped William on the leg. “Look at that. Good as new.”

Emily and William locked eyes. There was relief there. For both of them. But things needed to be said. Things needed to be sorted. And now wasn't the time.

“Oh, and just so you know,” said Corrigan, “there's an army of about a hundred angry fey marching toward us. We should probably barricade ourselves inside.”

Merlin winced and turned stiffly to Emily. “Do you know this creature? Or should we just kill him now?”

“I know him. This is Corrigan. The piskie who has been helping us.”

“Ah. He doesn't look like much.”

Corrigan glared at Merlin. “Who's the old man, Snow? You picking up strays now?”

“This is Merlin,” she said, her eyes flicking across to William as she said it.

Corrigan stared at him critically. “Are you sure? He looks a bit … decrepit.”

“I've been locked in a block of crystal for over a thousand years!” snapped Merlin. “Why don't you try that, and let's see how spry
you
look.”

“I hate to interrupt,” said Jack,“but if there really is an army on the way, shouldn't we get to your workshop?”

“Yes. Of course. Follow me.”

Merlin climbed the steps, brushing past Corrigan and nodding amiably at William. He led them toward the stairs and was just about to climb them, when Emily realized someone was missing.

“Where's Katerina? Wasn't she with you?” Emily fervently hoped so, because otherwise it meant she had simply deserted them back at Cavanagh's house.

William and Corrigan paused, looking at each other in puzzlement.

“She was right here,” said William. “She came down the stairs.”

They hurried back to the door and peered outside.

“There,” said Jack, pointing toward the gate. They could just see Katerina sprinting across the grass.

“What's she doing?” asked William.

“Probably what we should be doing,” answered Corrigan. “Running away.”

“She's not running away!” snapped William. “She can't be.”

Katerina disappeared through the gate, vanishing from sight.

“Looks like it to me,” said Corrigan.

“We don't have much time,” called Merlin. He hadn't moved from the stairs. He nodded at Wren, who helped him up the steps.

The others reluctantly followed. Merlin led them along a corridor and into the chapel. He approached a blank piece of wall and rested his hands against the stone. A grinding sound echoed through the chamber, and a faint line appeared in the wall, widening until it revealed a door.

Merlin pushed it open, and Wren helped him through. The others followed, descending a long flight of stairs that ended at a round green door with a doorknob set exactly in its center. Wren turned the doorknob and stepped aside so Merlin could enter first. The enchanter hobbled inside, breathing a great sigh of relief.

As he entered his workshop, there was a loud whoosh of rushing air, and a blue pillar of fire leapt into life in the center of the large room. Merlin moved to the side and waved everyone in.

“Welcome to my lair,” he said, then frowned. “Sorry, that sounded rather ominous. Welcome to my workshop.”

Emily stepped across the threshold and looked slowly around. It
was
a workshop. But it was also a library. And a study. And a sleeping chamber. It was all these things and more. Books were strewn everywhere. On desks, on the floor, on wooden bookshelves. A huge table ran the length of the room, covered with odds and ends. Emily peered along its length. The section closest to her was strewn with tiny gears and cogs. A half-finished bird made of metal was lying on its side, its body complete except for wings. Emily reached out to touch it, and it turned its head and whistled softly, a note of inquiry. Emily swallowed and drew her hand back. She moved to a nearby reading desk. A huge book was lying here, a book that Emily had seen before. It had the emblem of the Invisible Order on the front, the two entwined dragons devouring each other's tail. This was the
Historia Occultus—
the Hidden Histories. The book that Sebastian had shown her and William only a couple of days ago in Somerset House, the book that held all of the history of mankind between its pages.

She looked up to find her brother. He was approaching Merlin.

“Are you going to summon the Raven King?”

Merlin was leaning against the long table. He laughed bitterly. “Me? Boy, I can't even summon the strength to walk, never mind summon the Raven King.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “And as it turns out, even if I
did
have the strength, it wouldn't make a difference.”

“Why?” asked William.

“Because I have no memory of how to wake him. I can remember some of it, but the spell itself …” He tapped his head. “Gone. Or rather”—he turned and pointed to a section of the workshop that had been curtained off— “over there.” He sank down into a chair. “So to save everyone a thousand years ago, I've doomed us in the here and now.”

“Then why did you want to come here?” asked Emily. “What was the point if we can't do anything?”

“I told you. I need to restore my magic. If I don't do that, I'll be dead in a matter of hours. Once I have my magic restored to me, we'll see what can be done.”

“And how long will that take?” asked Wren.

“It took a full day and a half to complete the process the first time. It will take the same amount of time to reverse it.

“A day and a half!” exclaimed Emily. “But it will be too late by then. London will be gone. So will half of England. Thousands of people will be dead!”

Merlin looked wretched. “I don't know what to tell you,” he said. “You did the right thing. You rescued me. But sometimes we're just not successful in what we set out to do. Sometimes we have to settle for what we can get. Right now, I don't know how to summon the Raven King. We will just have to wait.”

“Excuse me,” said William, “but will this help?”

William handed over a slim leather book to Merlin. Merlin took it from William and flipped through the pages, his eyes widening as he did so. “I remember this! I wrote it down before I started siphoning off my magic. It was all the knowledge I was afraid to lose.”

“What is it?” asked Wren.

“Information. Spells and notes. Among many other things, this book holds my instructions on how to summon the Raven King.”

Emily stared at William in wonder. He had done it? He had actually succeeded in finding a means to summon the Raven King?

“Where did you find it?” asked Merlin.

“A fey prison. Beneath Newgate,” said Corrigan.

“Ah, yes. I contemplated leaving it in the library of the Invisible Order, but I didn't think it was secure enough. So I left it at the prison. I was the last person alive who even

remembered it existed. I thought it the safest place.”

“Why not leave it here?” asked Emily.

“If Arthur and his knights hadn't succeeded in capturing Morgan Le Fay, there was a chance she would have found my workshop here. Of course, the tower wasn't built yet. That came much later. If she found the information contained in this book, then all would have been lost.”

“So you can summon him?” asked William excitedly. “You can wake Bran the Blessed?”

Merlin frowned in confusion. “Bran the Blessed? Bran is dead, my boy. Even I can't bring someone back from the dead.”

“But it says in there. It says he is the Raven King.”

Merlin opened the book and quickly scanned the contents. “Ah, I see. No, Bran
was
the Raven King, yes. But I didn't mean he would be awoken from death when the need arose. What I meant was that as long as Bran's
bloodline
exists, then the Raven King will live. The power of the Raven King flows down through Bran's descendants.” He stared at his book with some distaste. “I really wish he hadn't used such a name, though. The Raven King. The true name of Britain's protector is the Pendragon. As long as the blood of the Pendragon clan lives on, Britain will have her protector.”

William's face fell. “Wait. So the Raven King—the Pendragon or whatever—might not even be in London?”

“Oh, he'll be here. Whoever he is, he will be drawn to London. It is as if he is pushed by fate. The Pendragon will always be involved in tumultuous affairs. Will feel drawn to events that will one day become history. The blood of the Pendragon pulls them to trouble like iron filings to a magnet. It has always been so. Just look at King Arthur.”

William gestured at the book. “So wake him up. Say the words!”

“I can't! The words must be said at the site of Bran's grave.”

“But Katerina said he was buried beneath the Tower of London. That's why we came here!”

“Ah, I see,” said Merlin softly. “Some of the legends say that, yes, but Bran was not buried beneath the Tower of London. He was actually buried beneath Tower Hill. Come here.”

Merlin limped over to what appeared to be a well built into the floor of his workshop. But as they approached, Emily saw it wasn't a well at all. It was one of the crystal dragon eyes she had used to look inside Somerset House.

Merlin touched the glass. A pale pink glow surrounded his hand, spreading out like ripples in a pond, washing up against the edge of the glass and bouncing back again, growing brighter and brighter as it did so.

An image appeared, showing a bird's-eye view of the White Tower, the tower above Merlin's workshop. Surrounding the tower (and within the walled enclosure) was the fey army they had seen approaching. They appeared to be waiting for something. Outside the Tower enclosure they could see a massive wall of fire stretching along the street.

Merlin moved his hand over the image, and it slowly shifted to the northeast. He pointed at a small hill just outside the walls of the enclosure. “Tower Hill. It is a magical place, the oldest spot in London. The first stone of the city was laid here.
That
is where the blood of the Pendragon must be awoken.”

“Except we now happen to be surrounded by a small army,” pointed out Wren.

“Yes. So it would seem.”

“So what do we do?” asked William. “We can't just sit here waiting to die.”

“You are entirely correct.” Merlin winced and walked over to a table. He picked up a small stone and held it up. The entwined dragon symbol of the Invisible Order was engraved into the stone. “We have the means of getting into Tower Hill.” He held up the journal. “We have the means of waking the blood of the Pendragon.” He put the two objects back on the table and moved across his workshop to the curtained-off area. He pulled the curtain aside, revealing a ghostly figure lying on a long stone plinth. The figure was Merlin, looking like he was peacefully asleep. The real Merlin climbed up onto the plinth, his hands moving through the half-seen figure. “But first, I need to restore my magic, because if I set off to wake the Raven King now, I do not think I will make it back alive.” He lay down. The ghostly image seemed to shift and sink over his real body, so that the only way you could tell there were two was a slight blurring around the edges of Merlin. He opened his eyes again. “Trust me. I don't like doing this. But sometimes waiting is the best way forward. My advice is to get some sleep. My workshop is warded. They could burn the tower down around us, and they still wouldn't be able to get inside.”