“Let me pass!” Culann said.
As Gogi turned to see Arthur thundering off, Culann slipped his horse into the gap, pushing the giant aside.
Merlin followed, with Dwin close behind.
Gogi shook his head and ambled behind.
Merlin rode fast to catch up with the others, who were dismounting outside the tent. It was a strange sort of pavilion, with large, embroidered flaps, a central pole, and two smaller tents protruding on either side to form wings.
Arthur drew his blade and was about to run in when Merlin called to him.
“Caution, Arthur! That may not be the best . . .”
Arthur took one look back and ran into the tent as if he hadn’t heard. Culann and Dwin were right behind.
Merlin entered last . . . and sucked in his breath when he saw the situation. In the rear of the tent stood a brown-hatted man with a knife to Gwenivere’s throat. Gwenivach lay on her side, bound, with the man’s boot on her head.
“Get back or I’ll kill her!” the man yelled. He looked wildly at the four of them, and he jerked the blade closer.
Gwenivere screeched.
Arthur didn’t back up, but didn’t advance either. “What do you want?”
“Three gold pieces . . . and a horse tah ride away on . . . and I let ’em live.”
Arthur searched the bag at his side.
Culann kicked out the central pole of the tent.
The ruffian looked up and panicked as the tent fabric began to float down on him.
Culann lunged forward, grabbed the man’s knife hand, and pointed his own blade at the man’s face.
The man gave up and dropped his knife.
Dwin pushed the central pole back up, giving Merlin a better view. That was when he recognized the man, who had a thick scar across his chin . . . and that brown hat! There was a cut through the top. This was the same horse thief that Merlin had fought on the bridge. The same one that had stolen one of their horses.
Merlin’s stomach clenched like he’d just swallowed a rock, and he drew his own blade and placed it next to Culann’s. Knocking the man’s hat off, he grabbed his hair, jerking him back.
Gwenivere fell from his grip, screaming. “Don’t hurt him! Don’t you dare hurt him!”
For a heartbeat all three rescuers stared at the girl. Then Gogi ducked into the tent, huffing. “Don’t . . . don’t hurt him!”
“What’s going on here? Who are you?” Merlin shouted, as much at Gogi as at the stranger.
With two blades in his face the man didn’t dare move, but he slowly turned his gaze up at Merlin.
Gogi spoke first. “He’s . . . he’s me only son, ya know!”
Merlin stiffened and felt his hands tingle.
“Aye, I’m his son — Melwas mab Gogirfan!” the man said. And though he had neither his father’s height nor girth, Merlin saw the resemblance now: the roundly shaped ears, the slightly bulbous nose, and those bushy eyebrows.
He let go of the man’s hair and pulled his blade away.
Gogi fell to his knees before them, yet his head was still level with Merlin’s chest. “We were trickin’ yah,” Gogi said. “To give us gold and a horse. I only tell the story tah riders I thinks are alone. I didn’t know it was you all, or I would’ve never tried, ya know.” He took his sleeve and wiped what Merlin had thought was blood from his hand. There was no wound.
Culann reached down to help Gwenivere stand, but she pushed his hand away and found her own feet. Gwenivach slipped out of her loose knots and stood next to her sister, teeth gritted and eyes glaring.
The giant bent his head down, his eyelids drooped, and his lips formed a pout above his finely braided white beard. “I’m full sorry, Gogi is, and I admit that I’ve been trying to take your horses from the moment I met ya. We people — we Walkers — are a poor lot, and we fairly starve come late winter.”
The urge to slap the man came over Merlin, but he held his arms tight to his sides. “Where’s Dwin’s horse, then? Give it back to us.”
Gogi’s eyes brightened. “Ya know, we tried to sell ’im three times, but haven’t found someone willing to part with enough coins . . . so we still have him. Melwas . . . go get the chestnut, and be quick about it.”
Melwas stood, slipped from the tent, and came rushing back in.
“There’s warriors out there!”
Arthur led the way, then, and they all stepped out.
Percos, Neb, and a few other warriors had come with their weapons ready.
Arthur nodded to them as Melwas stepped into the woods and swiftly returned with Dwin’s horse, which nickered at Dwin’s gentle touch to its cheek.
“I never thought I’d get you back!” he said.
“Well, while we’re all here,” Gogi said, “why don’t we make up a big pot o’ soup and — ”
Merlin held up his hand. Just thinking about it made his ears throb. “We have to go,” he said curtly. “And I hope we never have the pleasure of seeing you again.” He stared sternly at Arthur, but the young man looked away to steal a glance at Gwenivere. The girl sat with her eyes downcast upon the burnt remains of their campfire, over which a skinny, charred bird was spitted.
Merlin mounted and the others followed suit wordlessly. Once they were riding back down the trail, though, Arthur trotted his horse up to Merlin.
“Why’d you leave so soon?”
“Go ahead. Give ’em Casva and be done with it.”
“I’m serious. Gwenivere — ”
“Tried to steal your horse.”
Arthur huffed and rode ahead.
“And my horse, remember?” Merlin called after him. “If they’d had their way, we would have all walked the entire length of Kembry!”
A short ride brought them to the Fossa, but they ignored the dusty road bed to head cross-country toward Glevum.
Merlin rode near Arthur the rest of the day, but the two didn’t speak. So it was a relief when evening began to descend and the setting sun etched the sky with brass and burgundy, heralding their arrival at Glevum. They rounded a ridge of trees and beheld smoke still hanging over the city. After passing through the east gate in silence, the small band wound their way toward the ruins of Dinas Vitalinus, hoping to find those who might have gathered for the muster.
As they approached, a figure dashed into a large stone building.
“Hey, there!” Arthur called, but no one answered his hail.
By the time they arrived, the man had run out again with ten other warriors, all holding spears.
“Halt!” the man said, looking from Arthur to Culann to Dwin, and then to the long line of warriors beyond. “Who dares enter Vortigern’s city unheralded?”
When Merlin rode up, he saw that the man was mostly bald, and what was left of his brown hair hung down, unkempt, past his shoulders. He wore a black tunic and a thick leather belt adorned with a whip, a long dirk, and a flagellum.
Arthur laughed. “And who is foolish enough to guard a ruined city with ten men?”
“I am Rondroc, chief jailor to High King Vortigern, and the highest official still alive in the city. State your names and your purpose — or get out.”
Merlin’s mouth fell open . . . Rondroc was the name of Natalenya’s older brother. They had heard nothing of him since the day he’d gone off to serve Vortigern sixteen years ago. Merlin searched his face for a resemblance . . . perhaps the nose and forehead. Could it be him?
“Vortigern and Vortipor are dead at the hands of the Saxenow,” Arthur retorted, “and we are all that’s left of his army.”
Rondroc blinked, took a step back, and tightened the grip on his spear.
Percos rode forward. “It’s true, Rondroc . . . there’s been disaster on the trail, as well as here, I see.”
“Then who is this one leading? I owe no man my — ”
Merlin gave his harp to Peredur and dismounted. Stepping around from behind Arthur’s horse, he interrupted the proceedings. “Hear me, Rondroc of the house of Tregeagle, brother of my wife.
The man you are speaking of is High King Arthur, the son of Uther, come back from both death and slavery.”
When Rondroc saw Merlin’s face and scars, he flipped his spear around and waved the cudgel end threateningly at him. “Ol’ bird-scratch, eh? After all these years! I think we have an old score that needs settling!” The man’s neck turned red and his nose twitched.
Merlin held his hands out in a gesture of peace. “I’m not here to fight you, Rondroc. I paid for my deed at the end of your father’s whip, remember?”
“Oh, I remember it well,” Rondroc said with a scathing tone, “because I wanted to be the one to flog you. But my father refused me, and now’s my chance to even it up.”
Merlin looked to Arthur, who had a smirk on his face. “Here,” the king said, “take my spear.” And he tossed it to Merlin, who caught it.
Rondroc swung at Merlin, who backed up just in time.
“Hey,” he said, “you can see!”
“So you noticed.” Merlin held his own spear out in a defensive stance. Memories came back to him of his former fight with Rondroc. Merlin had been just eighteen winters old, passing by Tregeagle’s house with Garth and his bagpipe.
Thwack!
Rondroc lashed out, and Merlin barely blocked the blow.
“Peace, Rondroc. We’re not children anymore.”
Rondroc swung again, this time overhead, and Merlin raised his spear to block it, but just as it hit and bounced off Rondroc swung it lightning fast to the side and cracked Merlin in the shoulder.
Merlin reeled back, his arm stinging.
“You’re right!” Rondroc said. “I’m a man now and ol’ Ronno’s going to take you out, one way or the other.” He flipped his spear back, and now the steel tip gleamed in the sunlight. His forearms rippled with strength, and there were many scars and burns criss-crossing them. “This time you’ll stay down. Dirty villager. Not paying my tax.”
Merlin’s memory drifted back to his first encounter with Rondroc again. Garth had distracted Rondroc for a moment, allowing Merlin to crack Rondroc over the head with his staff. Merlin had been blind then, but now what was he to do? Fight his brother-in-law?
Rondroc lunged forward with the tip of his spear.
Merlin failed to block it fully, and the tip missed the right side of Merlin’s chest by two handbreadths and ripped through his cloak.
Merlin grabbed the middle of Rondroc’s spear with his right hand, and with the haft of his own spear in his left he hit Rondroc over the head.
Whack!
Rondroc didn’t flinch.
Again Merlin hit him, this time across the forehead, cracking his spear.
But Rondroc only smiled. He was missing a few teeth, and the rest were rotting — but it sure seemed to be a smile.
Then Merlin noticed that the man wasn’t fighting to free his spear and had let it go slack.
“Ha-ha!” Rondroc said, and then he hugged Merlin, patting him on the back. “I’ve heard you’ve taken good care of my sister since you married her. Welcome to Glevum!”
“But . . .”
“Ah, I just had to test you for ol’ times’ sake. Mother’s twice visited me in secret and told me about you all — even about Arthur — and I’ve kept my mouth shut all these years. Wasn’t easy, to tell the truth, but what else are family for, huh?”
Merlin was stunned. Rondroc knew?
“Hear, hear!” Arthur said, clapping, and all the men joined in.
Rondroc bowed. “And welcome, High King, to your field of spoil.”
“Spoil?” Culann asked, raising a dubious eyebrow at the charred ruins surrounding them.
“Well . . . I’m actually not the jailor . . . not in a strict sense, anyway. If you and those you trust most will follow me, I have something to show you.”
Merlin exchanged glances with Arthur, and the young king nodded.
Arthur dismounted and asked Culann, Dwin, Peredur, and Percos to join him. Rondroc led them into the building on the left, which was a massive stone structure with only tiny arrow slits for windows on the upper floors.
“This is Vortigern’s jail and dungeon here in Glevum. Not the kind of place invaders pay attention to, at least not at first.”
As they passed deeper into the structure, Merlin caught the faint sound of someone singing far away. It was a sad sound, but Merlin couldn’t tell where it was coming from. A little deeper in, and the song disappeared altogether.
Rondroc grabbed a torch from the wall, led them to a cell, and unbarred it. Inside, he went to a moldy wooden wall where prison chains hung. Pulling both of the chains in an alternating pattern caused some mechanism to click inside the wall, and a wooden door, cleverly hidden, opened on the left. Rondroc took them through the doorway, which led to a precipitous set of crudely cut stone steps.
Down and down they went until the air turned musty and Merlin’s nose itched. Water dripped from the ceiling, making the stairs slippery. As the walls began to close in on them, a nameless fear grew in Merlin that they were descending the throat of some giant, eyeless frog, and soon it would swallow them down into its sluicing belly where they would die and never again return to the light of day.
But their echoing footsteps went on and on until finally the stairs ended and Rondroc led them through a passageway. Along the sides lay ancient dungeon cells whose bars were slimed with rust and whose wooden doors had long ago rotted to uselessness. The torchlight would sometimes slip into these cells, revealing skulls Merlin felt were staring back among scattered piles of refuse and bones.
“Where are we going?” Percos asked, his low voice filling the darkness.
Peredur, who had been bringing up the rear, sidled up to Merlin and whispered in his ear, “I don’t like this. Rondroc’s men . . . do ya think they’ve followed us?”
Arthur put a hand on Rondroc’s shoulder, and the man spun to face them. The flickering torchlight reflected red off his eyes, and the shifting shadows accentuated his rotting, jagged teeth.
He brought his hand up into the light, revealing a sharp dagger with ancient etchings on the blade.
Rondroc jabbed the dagger at Arthur, who stepped back and slammed into Merlin. Merlin caught himself by grabbing the slimy, rusted bar of a dungeon cell, which broke free from the rotten wood. They both would have fallen if Dwin hadn’t steadied them.
Rondroc pulled back, cackling. “Made you jump, huh?”
He turned to face a dungeon door — this one intact. “I told you I wasn’t a jailor. Well . . . I’m actually the treasurer, and those wolf-warriors didn’t have enough brains to find what ol’ Vorty squirreled away. As you are the new High King, I present to you my captives — one and all.”
He popped the pommel off of the dagger, and a large gold ring dropped into his palm from within the hollow handle. But the ring was strange, as it had a protrusion that was bent and had a raised pattern on it.
“This is an old Roman key,” he said. “The very key of Vitalinus, and of his grandfather before him. And as you, Arthur, are his only living heir, Ronno’s going to give what it guards to you.” He pushed the bent end into a hole, pressed it downward, slid it to the right, and the door clicked open. The old hinges groaned and squealed as Rondroc pulled the heavy door open.
Merlin squinted, but a deep shadow lay over the room.
Rondroc handed the torch to Arthur and beckoned him forward.
Arthur raised it and entered the room. Before him sparkled two small open chests of gold and silver coins mixed in with gems of every hue.
Merlin almost bit his tongue. He had never seen such treasure — the cream skimmed from the top of an impoverished island.
“Vortigern’s been saving this for a long time — and stole half of it from Uther, I’m told. The plan was that once Vortipor became High King, Vortigern always said, he planned on sailing to Brythanvy and living on an estate he’d purchased for himself. This treasure was his new life, and he wanted to get away from these Saxenow, he did. Well, it looks like th
ey got to him first, huh?”
Merlin put a tentative hand on Rondroc’s shoulder. “Why are you doing this? Your father — ”
“My father! Hah. He’s a greedy, brutal madman. And I was greedy too . . . back then. I joined Vortigern because I thought I was cruel and that I’d enjoy killing people. I sure wanted to kill you back then.”
Rondroc sighed. “But here . . . here I saw real cruelty, and if it weren’t for my oath, I’da run away many a time. Well, now I am free, I guess, but I won’t be going anywhere. Not with my charge to take care of for you, huh? Vortigern liked hiding his treasure in the dungeon so he could check on it when he questioned the condemned for information. You might wonder why Hengist and Horsa hated Vortigern so, but know this: over three hundred Saxenow were viciously slain here. So I’ve worked here all these years pretending to be a jailor, watching the real jailor’s brutality, witnessing injustice, and all the while Vortigern never knew I guarded your secret too . . . something more precious than all his rotted jewels.”
He turned then and looked on Merlin and smiled. “Now I can see Natalenya again.”
Merlin nodded and tried to smile back, but a lump as big as a rock gathered in his throat and stuck there. How could he tell Rondroc his fear? Tell him that Merlin had failed her and his family by coming south? If only . . . Arthur handed the torch back and looked to the others with wide eyes. “Now we have enough to raise a new army, don’t we?”
Culann nodded with a satisfied smile, while Dwin wore a look of disbelief.
“Take what you need right now,” Rondroc said, “and I’ll be waiting for when you need more. I’ll keep the secret, you can be sure of that.”
Arthur selected enough silver coins to pay the men with him, and then adequate gold to recruit more men from the chieftains of Kembry and Kernow. After counting them out, he poured the gold into Merlin’s bag for safekeeping and kept the silver himself.
Then Merlin shook Rondroc’s hands. “Thank you,” he said, “you’ve given us a chance.”
Rondroc locked the door again and led them back up the stairs. The torch was sputtering now, and they barely made it back up before the flames thinned and died. Rondroc secured the secret door and then barred the cell where it was hidden.
Merlin's Nightmare (The Merlin Spiral) Page 27
