“I’ll get it back, curse them. A king should die with his torc on!”
“Don’t want to die. Cut my bonds.”
The man’s mud-caked nose came in and out of focus. “Shah, ‘twill take only a moment, but it’s too late. They come to slurp the mire off this glacking frog’s bones!”
Uther heard footsteps on the rocks, with shouting and confusion.
“The other boat — it’s gone!”
“The wee scout’s taken it.”
“Hey! Who’s that old’un crouchin’ next to the High King?”
The man bent one more time and winked at Uther. “A task for me from thy good God!” He ran away, swinging a rusty sword. “For the Boar of Britain!”
Uther tried to lift his head to see, but his neck was too stiff. Cries and shouting echoed forth. Steel clashed. Someone screeched.
“He cut me, the limmer. Kill ‘im!”
A short shriek pierced the night, then all was silent.
“What now, O’Sloan?” came a voice. “We canna all fit in one boat, not w’ McEwan, an’ we already staved in the king’s boat.”
“Lookit, another one, there! Must be the wild man’s. ‘Tis a carved-out log that could carry two.”
“That’ll do us, sure, now that we’re rid o’ McGoss.”
“Dinna say his name agin as long as I live.”
“Sorry. ‘Tis fool hard ta believe his evil deed. An’ that poor bard.”
“Shah, I said. We judged the traitor by our good laws, and sure, I’ll speak no more o’ it. You, then, get in the log boat an’ see if it sinks or nay.”
Uther used all his might to arch his back and untwist his legs.
A man shouted. “Thar’s a snake in the log boat! I’ll nah go in there.”
“We’ll have to ferry o’er in two trips, then, what with Gilroy’s body ‘n all.”
“But the boy’s gone ‘n stole the king’s heir. Sure ‘n the ard dre’ll have our heads.”
Uther’s addled brain tried to comprehend these tidings. His heir? Were they talking about Arthur? Anger surged through his limbs, but he couldn’t break free of his bonds.
“He’ll take a fury to us, sure,” one of the Eirish warriors said. “But we’ve got the High King, and we’ll be rewarded well. The ard dre has special plans for this one, I ken.”
Merlin found a place to sit on a rock just outside the stone circle — reasonably close to the wicker cages and not too far from where his father lay tied to the Stone. There, as darkness finally spread over the hilltop, he pulled his hood down and prayed.
The drumming ceased, and the druidow stopped their ritualistic nonsense. In front of him, Merlin heard many footsteps approaching, so he hunkered down a little farther. The nearby crowd parted, and a man holding a torch stepped forward with his green robe rippling in the rising wind.
“At last, at last you have come back from the island,” the man said, and Merlin recognized his voice. Mórganthu. “And as promised, you have brought my enemy for judgment and sacrifice!”
“Aye, ‘tis true, Ard Dre,” said a voice on the right, “but we’ve lost two warriors, and I’m wounded along with O’Rewry.”
Merlin tried not to move or draw attention to himself. The man speaking was one of the Eirish warriors, and the faint smell of the damp marsh wafted from where he and his companions stood.
“It dinna go as ya told us it would.”
Mórganthu snorted. “And what could have gone wrong? Surely the young and weak presented no obstacle? Tying them up as I instructed was not difficult, hmm?”
“It dinna work that way, Ard Dre. McGoss dinna follow yer orders. And by the look on his face, he dinna think we’d do it, but we judged him by our laws, and now that murderer is dead.”
Mórganthu clucked his tongue. “Really? I never thought him capable of that.”
Merlin’s ears pricked as a man rasped out the words, “Let me go …”
Did Merlin know that voice? His poor eyesight frustrated him.
“And where is the heir of the High King?” Mórganthu inquired. “I do not see him here.”
“He cried too loud,” the warrior on the right said, “and so … we drowned him in the marsh.”
At this news, Merlin felt as if a massive hand had grabbed his throat and squeezed. Were they talking about Arthur … was he dead?
Mórganthu cursed. “You were told to bring him alive. Alive! Where is his body?”
“He … he slipped and we lost him.”
Merlin hung his head and gulped back his rage. How could the world change so drastically in so few hours?
“You drown the babe and then lose his body? You will pay for this disobedience!”
“Ard Dre … if it helps, we’ve brought this torc and blade as a gift for ya.”
“Ah, finally! The torc has finally come back to the keeping of the druidow … Yes, to bestow on one who is worthy. And the blade, yes, I see. Vengeance. Very appropriate. At least Belornos will be pleased with this new servant tonight!”
The rasping man struggled against his bonds. “Where’s my wife? My children? What have you done with them?”
Merlin’s heart sank. The man was Uther! And now Merlin’s burden had increased. How could he — alone and blind — save his father, Uther, and the monks all at once? Indecision and fear began to tear at his soul like twin demons bent on destroying him.
“Oh, do not struggle, my bound one. You will see your queen and family soon enough. Bring him to the Stone and place him upon it.” And as Mórganthu walked away, he laughed long and loud.
Natalenya felt Connek’s blade slash forward and rip the back of her dress, cutting a thin line across her shoulder blade.
With both hands on the tall workbench, she kicked backward and hit Connek in the stomach. Thankfully she had two brothers who had, through their rough play, taught her to hold her own. Turning to her right, she vaulted onto the upper grindstone, causing its supporting benches to creak under her weight. As she slid off the other side, she banged her head on the swinging timber boom and crashed to the ground.
“Die, and I’ll have my reward!” Connek shouted as he charged up and heaved his weight against the huge grindstone to topple it onto her.
Natalenya shook her head to clear it as the benches groaned and the wood splintered above her. The heavy stone tilted forward.
Terror drove her to roll away, find her feet, and grab the low timber boom. With all her strength she heaved it in Connek’s direction. “Leave me alone,” she yelled.
As the boom swung forward, a thud echoed through the room, and Natalenya heard Connek fall.
“I’ll get you, you rich hag!” Connek yelled from the ground.
She backed away from the grindstone and saw a glint of golden light reflecting off of something underneath the benches. Merlin’s torc? It must have landed there after hitting that despicable Connek’s face.
“The torc … It’s under the grindstone!” she called as she made for the door.
Glancing back, she saw the thief stoop down and lunge underneath the stone. “I’ll have it!” He grabbed the torc and laughed. As he scrambled forward, one of his knees hit the leg of a supporting bench, and with a great bang, the wood cracked and the stone fell.
Natalenya stood in shock as the dust settled. He was dead. He had to be. The stone had crushed him just behind the neck, and from there the thief’s blood began to pool in the dirt.
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she broke down, releasing all the panic and horror she felt. She hadn’t meant to kill Connek … just slow him down. She hesitated a moment, then walked forward, knelt, and extracted the torc from his hand. Then she placed it around her neck once again, and its golden curve weighed heavily upon her. She wanted to take hold of Connek’s dirt-encrusted hand and pray for his soul, but she couldn’t find it in herself to do it. Maybe one of the monks could do that before they buried him.
Natalenya retrieved the knife Merlin had given her and placed it back in her belt.
Someone moaned over by the mule stall, where Plewin munched a manger full of grain.
Allun … he’s hurt!
She quickly lit a rush lamp and found the miller tied up in a corner near the stall. After untying him, she offered him a sip from his waterskin.
Allun took a long drink, then sat up stiffly. “I thank you,” he said after a moment. “That crooked upstart attacked me.” He peered at Natalenya in the dim light. “He knew you and Merlin were coming. Planned on catching you here. But I kept my mouth shut that Merlin had already been here and gone. I prayed you’d come with one of your brothers, or someone else. Are you well? He didn’t hurt you?”
“A scrape or two, that’s all.” But her heart was still fluttering.
“You’re a brave lass, you are. I’ll throw that miscreant’s body in the ditch, I will. Take Plewin if you must, but be careful out there tonight.”
Knowing her time was short, she helped the miller to his feet, untied the mule, and then thanked him before leaving. As she stepped out into the darkness, Natalenya shuddered, for the moon was already slipping below the horizon, signaling the start of the druidow’s Beltayne feast, and she had to hurry.
Owain lay on the damp ground next to the Stone and struggled against the ropes that bound his feet and hands, but he couldn’t loosen their chafing cords. A stranger had been placed upon the Stone next to him, but since Owain faced away from the gleam he couldn’t see who the man was. Yet even with his back turned, Owain felt heat pulse from the Stone’s craggy surface, followed by cold, and then back to heat. On and on. The druidow circled with continuous chanting while the drums beat a slow cadence once more.
Owain studied the wicker cages and wondered where Dybris and Merlin were hiding. Still watching from the bushes where Owain had left them? But his hopes burned away when he spotted two hands with purple-blue designs holding the posts of the nearest woven cage. So one of the two had been caught, and probably both, considering Merlin’s blindness. They were all likely to die before that sluggish Vortigern came. Die before Natalenya even knew they’d been captured. Moisture dotted Owain’s eyes as he realized that Mônda would live out her remaining days without seeing the light or knowing his own love properly.
And Ganieda. Young, impressionable, and with so many needs. What would become of her? Already Owain had seen her taking on her mother’s hatred for the worship of Jesu.
And Merlin would die too, caught in a trap of fire that he couldn’t escape.
The man next to him groaned and struggled and finally spoke. “Igerna!” he cried. “Myrgwen … Eilyne! Someone help me!”
Owain swallowed back bile as these words hit him like a hammer in the gut. The man was Uther, and with him held hostage, what could Vortigern do? Would he even discover the king in time? And even if he did, how could he attack and free them all with the life of the High King at stake?
Owain moaned and closed his eyes as a stronger chill crept from the Stone, and the icy flow began to sap his hope away. He ground his teeth and thrashed his body to break free.
Uther spoke, but his words carried no strength. “… have lost … lost all.”
Owain rolled onto his back and squinted at Uther’s face. “No! There is hope while we live.”
The king’s body shifted, and his head turned slightly, recognition flickering in his eyes. “Hope, Owain?”
“Vortigern is coming,” Owain whispered. “He’ll rescue us!” Though the odds of that decline by the moment.
“Yes. Igerna’s brother.” Uther’s voice gained resolve. “Goodly Vortigern.”
“Do you remember that night near Uxellum when we were pinned against the cliff? We were barely nineteen winters. Your father sent us to patrol in the mountains north of the wall, and the Picti caught us from above.”
“The Picti. They … threw spears down and dropped rocks … and —”
“And we hoisted you up. Ah, you routed ‘em! Sixteen to one, and they ran at your wrath!”
“I remember.” Uther strained to sit up but rose barely a finger’s breadth before collapsing against the Stone.
“You were unstoppable when the battle frenzy came upon you.”
“Brewygh died with a spear … through his skull. Couldn’t let anyone else die. Didn’t want you to die.”
Owain coughed as the chill sank deeper into his flesh. “Uther, do you forgive me for leaving you for Gwevian? I couldn’t stay with you both, and I need you to understand.”
“It’s hard, Owain —”
“I need to hear you say it. I’ve needed it all these years. I’m sorry I failed you and the war band, but the new love that God kindled had to win out. Her father would have murdered her.”
Uther rolled his head to the side and looked at Owain. Blood dripped from the gash above his eye. “We were like brothers, you and I, but … I’ve learned to love now too … Fierce Igerna … faithful Igerna … Never see … my flower again…. Nor my children.” And then quietly, Uther said, “Owain, I forgive you … Sorry it’s ending like this.”
“It’s not over. Don’t say that!”
Uther groaned against his bonds. “I don’t want to die. The Stone … it hurts. A voice is telling me I’ll die … will worship it, yet it burns!”
“Fight it. Don’t give in —”
“Burning my soul …”
“Call on the name of God —”
The pace of the chanting druidow quickened, and the drums boomed louder. The seven torch holders snaked in and out of Owain’s vision.
With a flourish, Mórganthu reappeared, Uther’s sword belted at his side, and his golden knife protruding like a fang from his hand. Speaking in the druidow’ tongue, he circled the Stone like a cat.
Uther’s groaning increased as the Stone’s sickening glow poured like smoke from underneath him. “It burns … it burns!”
“Battle, Uther! To battle!” Owain turned away from the Stone. Even then, like massive tongs it tried to turn his head, and he mounted every ounce of strength to resist.
Mórganthu, his head uplifted and darkness in his eyes, raised his voice. “All! All who have come to serve Belornos and the gods of the druidow! Do you hear me?”
The people shouted back to him.
“This is the night when the moon descends to join us. The night when it slays the Seven Torches. Behold! The time of the otherworld is upon us!” And Mórganthu pointed to the west, where the moon was disappearing below the horizon with a constellation of seven stars beside it.
Merlin was listening to Mórganthu’s ravings when a man sat down to his right on the same rock. Merlin stiffened and turned his head slightly away to keep the man from seeing his scars.
“I’ve been watching you,” the man said.
Merlin swallowed. “Whatever for? Nothing better to do than bother a fellow druid?”
“You’re no druid, and you were with the monk before he was caught.”
Merlin’s left hand went quietly to his dirk.
“Don’t worry, though, I won’t give your secret away.”
Merlin took a breath. “Why?”
“My name’s Caygek, and I’m one of the leaders of the filidow. We don’t support Mórganthu or what he’s doing here. It goes against the laws of the wider order as they’ve been taught for the last hundred years.”
Hope surged in Merlin’s heart. “So you’ll help me?”
“I have men in position around the Stone, and they’re ready to intervene when I give the signal.”
“You’ll free my father … and the High King?”
“If we can.”
“And then the monks.”
“The monks … no. They’ve been judged and are considered criminals, not a sacrifice. The two at the Stone, however …”
This didn’t make sense to Merlin, and he gritted his teeth when he spoke. “You have to help me save them.”
“Why? I’m already risking my neck to try and stop the sacrifice. If my companions and I are alive by this time tomor
row, we’ll all have Grannos to thank.”
“The monks are innocent. They’ve done nothing deserving death.”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?” Merlin could barely contain his outrage.
“Like all other monks, they’re responsible for turning the people away from the old gods. For that slander, we druidow have an unforgiving hatred, and these monks are to be an example.”
Merlin scoffed at these words. “Can’t the old gods defend themselves?”
“We are their instruments of justice.”
“Don’t you see that killings like these have caused you to lose support? Fear cannot long hold a people in bondage, and if these monks die, then the news will spread, and you will all be driven out completely.”
“Perhaps.”
Tensing his fists, Merlin turned his head away. “I can’t save them on my own. I’m blind.”
“Ah, so you’re the famous Merlin, the one who keeps Mórganthu gnashing his teeth late into the night. Yes, I’ve heard about you. Well, then, let’s just say that it’s the ones who have sight who make the decisions.”
“Fine, then. Leave me alone to my prayers.”
“Not so fast. That doesn’t mean I’ve decided not to help you. I happen to know that if word got to Mórganthu that Merlin had ransomed the monks, then that just might agitate him to an early grave. It might even direct his wrath in your direction. And that, my phony druid, is something that interests me. Ransoming is something we allow by law.”
“You want me to pay you … to do what is right?”
“I have a few extra men I could call into service, but if you don’t have the money …”
Merlin squeezed the bottom of his bag and tried to remember the number of coins there. “How much do you want?”
“For that many men our law would suggest the ransom be, say, half a gold coin.”
“What?” That was an impossible price.
“Fine, a quarter of a coin, which in silver would be —”
“Go get your gold from the Stone.”
“From Mórganthu? Ah, now you see the problem of the filidow, the least-favored of our order.”
“I only have five screpallow.”
Caygek laughed. “You too? What about your torc?”
Merlin's Blade Page 32
