Merlin turned just in time to see Arthur go down. His saddle had slid sideways, and the young man fell from his horse. Next came Culann, who almost ran right over Arthur. Yanking the reins, he swerved his horse to the side just in time, but ran into Arthur’s horse.
They both crashed in a heap.
Merlin urged his mount forward, faster, and made gains on the thief. It was a lone man, right? What if there were more hiding in the woods, ready to cut him down? He checked to make sure of his sword and rode on.
He gained on the thief, who had to handle three horses instead of one. Merlin would soon be in striking distance, and goaded his horse faster.
But the man rode to the right where a sapling bent down into the path. The man maneuvered the horse closer to the branches, unleashing the tree from some hidden peg, and it shot upright just after he passed, pulling a rope taught in Merlin’s way.
But Merlin’s horse had been well trained, and leapt without hesitation. The sound of the pounding hooves stopped. Merlin’s body arced backward. The forest tilted. A jolt, like a hammering, rippled through the horse’s front. Merlin jerked forward, grabbing the mane.
The black mane . . . he should have known. This was Arthur’s stallion, Casva. The best of them all. The horse took off again and overtook the thief, who snarled at Merlin, accentuating a thick scar across his chin.
Merlin started to draw his sword, but realized the man was too far away, with a horse running between them. Instead, Merlin pulled his horse close, reached out, and grabbed the reins of the nearest stallion.
The man tried to yank them back, but Merlin had a firm grip.
That was when Merlin’s saddle began slipping and just like Arthur, he went down.
The world slowed. Neighing. Black, thundering hooves. Dirt smashing into his face. His legs slipping down. The ground ripping the fabric covering his knees. Skin scraping away. Yelling.
He held on to both sets of reins with all his strength, and the horses, their heads pulled downward toward each other, came to a slow, painful stop.
Merlin stood, out of breath and spitting dirt. His saddle hung sideways, with the girth strap partially cut through and partially torn. His knees were bloody, and he kicked a nearby rock in frustration.
The thief had sabotaged their saddles and had now escaped with one of their horses.
The party continued through the forest, short one horse. Thankfully Gogi had a good store of sinew with which to repair their saddles’ girth straps and make them whole once more, or else the five of them would have been riding bareback. Merlin even bought some thinner sinew to sew the fabric of his breeches back over his knees.
Poor Dwin . . . his horse was the one stolen, and he rode double with Culann.
It was now that Merlin grew most impatient, for the day was getting on, and still Arthur, Culann — and Dwin behind him — rode slowly, conversing with the girls. They needed to reach Glevum and either begin earnestly strategizing on how to defeat the Saxenow, or else forget the whole thing and get back home. Merlin didn’t come on this trip so Arthur and his friends could spend time courting young lasses.
But it seemed that Glevum was the farthest thing from Arthur’s mind.
The forest thickened even more, and Merlin’s sense of isolation grew. Gogi lost his interest in talking, answering in a dirge-like humming. The only noise was the constant jangling of bells, which not only grated Merlin’s nerves but made their presence conspicuous to any thieves who might be hiding in the darkness of the woods.
At length, a muddy, muck-filled riverbed began to follow the path to their right. It was wide and shallow, most of its water having finally succumbed to the heat plaguing the land, leaving only a few pools to seep into the muddy bottom.
And it stank. The longer they followed alongside, the stronger the stench grew. Fish lay bloated on its shore, their heads staring at Merlin with white, lidless eyes.
To top it off, the dung hauler that Gogi had sold him attracted a bevy of flies that swarmed around Merlin’s back, biting his neck and buzzing in his ears. He would have chucked the bag in the mud but for Gogi’s feelings.
Eventually the road curved to cross the riverbed — and they were met with an ancient bridge whose timbers were so cracked and rotten that many had fallen through. Arthur called them to halt. Dismounting, he stepped onto the bridge to test the nearest board. Bouncing up and down produced a great cracking, and the wood shattered. Arthur caught one of the rails and pulled himself up.
“I don’t think we should risk it, but I don’t see any other way across.”
Indeed, the river was completely mud at this point, and Merlin hadn’t seen anything better farther back.
“Ah, but we’ve come this way quite often,” Gogi said with a hearty chuckle, “and we always walk the horses across the river tah the left o’ the bridge. It’s a bit muddy now, o’ course, but not deep, and nothing for ya tah worry about, ya know.”
Arthur looked at the riverbed dubiously. “I’ll go first. The rest of you wait here until I find a way across.”
Merlin groaned inwardly. “No, my . . . Artorius,” he said, almost calling Arthur “lord” in front of Gogi and his daughters. “I want the honor.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”
Merlin gulped. “Yes.” It wasn’t right for Arthur to go first.
After handing his harp to Peredur — just in case something went wrong — he urged his horse to the edge of the riverbed. Did he really want to do this? Gogi had said it wasn’t deep, but did the giant really know? Did Merlin trust him?
“Merlin?” Arthur called.
That was all the prodding it took. The others must have a good example. But did this have to be his first act of service to his new lord? Really?
He nudged his horse forward. The animal responded and trotted out into the mud. Though the surface was slippery, there was something more solid underneath. For the first ten feet, at least — then the mud deepened, and the horse began to leap to prevent its hooves from getting stuck. About halfway across the horse began to sink. It tried to jump, but it just dug itself deeper in the mud. At first Merlin lifted his legs to keep his feet from the muck, but then he had to stand on the horse precariously, and couldn’t reach the bridge.
“Gogi!” he yelled, almost falling. “You’re responsible for this!”
“Didn’t ya hear me tell ya to ride farther to the left?” the giant bellowed. “Ya must be deaf, that’s what I say. It’s not sah deep over there. Does anyone have a rope?”
Dwin rode forward. “Our only was left on the honey tree.”
“If ya had a stout rope, ya could haul the horse out . . .”
Merlin judged that if he jumped, he could grab onto one of the timbers. Carefully crouching on the horse’s back, he leapt. Four fingers of his right hand caught hold, and he gripped tightly . . . but fell. At least it was a soft landing. He floundered through the mud, sinking ever deeper as he lunged back to the horse. Grasping the reins, he pulled himself closer, but not before smearing the stinking mess all over his tunic.
He pulled himself up onto the saddle, and then the sinew repair of the girth strap came loose and the saddle slipped sideways. Merlin fell back into the mud.
“GOGI!”
But the giant ignored him as he rummaged in his wagon, soon producing a short rope of woven sinews no longer than six feet or so. Arthur and Dwin took it and walked carefully to the center of the bridge and drew Merlin up and out from the slime.
“You stink,” Culann said when he made it back to shore.
Merlin wanted to give him a verbal lashing, but held his tongue. Instead, he turned to Arthur. “So now what do we do? We’re down two horses.”
“We ride double, buy some rope, and come back.”
“There’s a village,” Gogi said, “not two leagues from here, ya know, and we can buy some there.”
“But the bridge — ?”
Just then, they heard the sound of a horseman coming from t
he other direction. He emerged from the woods, hailed them, and then proceeded to cross the bridge. Sure, he went slowly to avoid fallen and cracked boards, but the bridge only shook the slightest bit.
“Never mind,” Merlin said.
One by one they crossed, walking their horses to spread out the weight evenly. Finally Gogi crossed with his wagon, vowing many times over that in all their travels through this forest he had never once seen a horse cross the bridge successfully.
Before they rode onward, Merlin attempted to clean himself. Untying his bag, he set it and his belt aside. Then, using a broken stick, he scraped as much of the mud off as he could. Finally, he washed his hands with a few drops of their precious water.
Before they rode off, Merlin took one last glance at his horse, sad and snorting in the middle of the riverbed, and he vowed to come back and free it.
They rode for some distance at the same agonizing pace as before, and Merlin’s thoughts slipped away north to Natalenya. A wave of homesickness rolled over him, and he reached for his bag, seeking the keepsake bit of skirt, only to find the satchel missing. It had been covered in mud and must have blended in with the ground back at the bridge.
Biting back a curse, he tapped Peredur, who was in the saddle in front of him, and explained his predicament.
Peredur nodded. “We’re ridin’ so slowly, I’ll walk while you ride back.”
He dropped from the horse and Merlin slid into the saddle.
“I’ll return as quickly as I can.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll be on the trail, and won’t be far.”
Gogi overheard their conversation. “Ah, young masked one, we’ll never make it tah the next village, ya know, if ya slow us down.”
Merlin ignored him, kicking the horse to a gallop. At least he was riding fast, even if it was in the wrong direction, and the breeze rushing through his hair felt good.
He arrived back at the bridge in no time at all.
But a man was standing on the bridge, and he held a long rope tied in a slipknot. He was dropping it over the head of the horse that was stuck in the riverbed. Merlin’s horse.
“Ho, there! What are you doing?”
The man answered with a casual air. “Ma horse is stuck, and ah’m gonna pull him out.”
Merlin stopped.
The same brown hat.
The same scar across his chin.
The thief.
Natalenya sang a ballad her grandmother had taught her as she finished packing some food that she and the children could eat at the waterfalls. White clouds had finally hidden the hot sun, and besides, Lord Ector’s wife, Aunt Eira, urged her to get out more.
Natalenya knew Eira was right. Though the memories of the home invasion had left her uneasy, nothing strange had happened since that night, and she was beginning to wonder if she should have the door fixed and move back. What held her back was that the horse herders hadn’t been able to successfully follow the confusing tracks of the intruders. Maybe the ground was just too dry to leave a clear trace, she told herself. Anyway, she wanted to forget the about it and provide some normalcy for the children.
Passing the satchel of food to Taliesin, she took Tinga’s hand and led her out the door.
“C’mon!” Taliesin said, running ahead. “The water’ll be dried up by the time we get there!”
“I’m not that slow!”
“Yeth you are,” Tinga said.
Natalenya gave her cheek a good-natured pinch, then shouted ahead to the running boy, “Tal, did you bring the fishing line?”
He nodded back at her without slowing his pace.
It was a short distance to the falls, so Natalenya slowed the children down to enjoy their walk, for even amongst the dead grasses a few hardy wildflowers had sprouted up. The stream joined them alongside the path, and here the grass grew green. They passed the high, conical rock and the stairs that climbed up to the fortress. This was where the valley narrowed and the stream rushed downhill to become a little waterfall.
Taliesin chose a spot on a flat rock next to one of the small waterfalls, and there Natalenya spread out her plaid cloth. The water wasn’t much, having thinned to one-third of its former flow, but it still gave a refreshing bubbling refrain.
Below them, farther down the falls, stood the crennig where the guards kept watch behind the thick timber wall. This wall had been concealed on the outside by rocks and brush in such a way as to keep their valley hidden from outsiders. It wasn’t a great secret among the people of Rheged, but they definitely didn’t want the Picti to know where the kingdom’s horses were raised.
Tinga waded in a sandy spot while Taliesin started to unwind his fishing line. Natalenya caught him and tickled him playfully. “We’ll eat first, yes?”
“Can’t I fish?”
She slipped a crock out from their food bag and set it in the middle of the blanket. “I have your favorite.”
Tinga jumped up and down, splashing the water. “Grouthe pie! Grouthe pie!”
“Settle, now — we have to thank God first.”
Taliesin set his fishing line down.
“O Lord, thank You — for You are the provider of this feast. May You cleanse our souls even as we enjoy the bounty of Your provision. Thank You for making the clouds to shade us, the stream to run, and the trout to leap. Amen.”
Taliesin’s eyes popped open to survey the falls. “The fish aren’t leapin’ right now, Mammu.”
Natalenya sniffed teasingly. “Well, they will be soon.”
“Hopefully so. Can we eat?”
Natalenya smiled and cut a thick slice of grouse pie. She handed it to him along with a smaller one for Tinga. While they ate, Taliesin pulled off his boots and tossed them to the grass. He promptly plopped down and slid his feet into the water. Natalenya did the same, sitting between them, breathing deeply, feeling alive.
“Aren’th you going ta eat, Mammu?” Tinga asked, her mouth full.
“I am,” she said.
“Here, Mommu.” And Tinga cut her a ragged piece of the crispy-crusted pie filled with layers of sheep cheese, greens, and tasty grouse. The birds had been given that morning by one of the horse tenders who had gone hunting, and Natalenya and Eira had prepared them together.
Natalenya ate, smelled the weedy freshness of the falls, and swished her feet through the cool, swirling water until her toes tingled.
Taliesin ate another huge piece, pulled out his fishing line, and stuck some grouse meat on the bent copper hook. Finding a good spot not too far from his mother, he threw it in.
Tinga took the net and tried to catch fish farther up the falls.
“Be careful,” Natalenya said, and then she pulled her feet from the water, lay back on the blanket, and closed her eyes. Soon the splashing and humming made her sleepy. She dozed.
She was awakened by Taliesin shaking her shoulder. “There’s no fish here. Can we go to the pool?”
Natalenya had to think about that. The pool was just outside the gate. But what was the harm? There were always warriors on guard.
“The fishin’th better there,” Tinga said, hopping up and down.
“Yes, I know. We won’t stay long?”
Taliesin was already winding up his line. “Just so we can catch a fish.”
“All right.” Merlin loved fishing with them, and Natalenya sensed their determination was tied to missing their tas.
She packed up, and, still barefoot, they hopped the stream before walking down the path to the guard’s crennig. The clouds had thinned some, though the sun didn’t reach into the gorge at this time of day, leaving the stones cool on Natalenya’s feet and the air moist.
And as usual, the guards were lying about, two of them napping beside old Brice, the porter, who was knitting with deft, gnarled fingers.
“And what are you making today?” Natalenya asked him.
“Ah, sumtin’ for ta missus.” He had one of the thickest Rheged accents, causing all his vowels to be drawn out slowly.
/> “Well, now, have you replaced that rusting hinge yet?”
“Ah . . . nooo.”
“And what about the cracked bar? Have you gotten a new one?”
“Ah . . . I dooon’t think so . . . Nah yet, nooo.”
“And the weak part of the gate . . . Have you had the smith make some new plates to strengthen it?”
“Ah . . . lemme check.” He stood, shuffled over, craned his head at the gate, and shuffled back. “Ah . . . no.”
Natalenya tapped her fingers together and stared at him.
“I’m right sorry, Missus Ambrosius. I’ll see to it . . . next week.”
Natalenya raised her left eyebrow.
“Right awa’, then . . . right awa’.”
“Thank you, Brice. Now, we would like to fish in the pool outside, if — ”
Brice nodded and kicked the nearest guard where he slept with his hat over his eyes.
“Logan, get up! And you too, lazy-knees!”
The two jumped up to help and had the gate open in no time. Uncle Ector normally kept five guards with the porter, but what with the warriors riding to help Urien, they had a shortage.
“Call if you need us,” Brice said as he closed the door most of the way.
The pool was just a little way down and to the right, shaded and almost hidden by a few pines. Merlin loved to take the children here, and they almost always caught a few of the good trout that congregated in the deep, cold water.
But there was a curious object resting at the edge of the pool, a sort of case made from horn. Someone must have lost it here. Natalenya picked it up.
“What is it?” Taliesin asked.
From inside she fished out a shaving razor. The iron edge was oiled and quite sharp, and its handle was made from bone, and . . . there were symbols carved into its side.
Natalenya sucked in her breath and closed her mouth.
She hadn’t seen scratchings formed like that, since . . . since she had been a slave.
It was Pictish!
With shaky hands she put the razor back in its box, tucked it in her belt, grabbed the children’s arms, and dragged them back to the gate. After they squeezed inside, she shoved it closed and called for the guards. There, with a thrumming pain coursing through her head, she leaned upon the gate’s old timbers — and moaned.
Merlin's Nightmare (The Merlin Spiral) Page 12
