Merlin picked up his sword and stole quietly through the trees. At the outer ring of the campsite he paused, spotting Garth behind a pine on the opposite side.
The boy waved to him, eyes bulging.
Merlin signaled for him to be quiet, and began circling left toward the hunched man. If he could glimpse the man’s cloak pin, he would know what type of man he faced. For all of the warriors — those who now served the traitor Vortigern — had their cloaks pinned with a golden boar, a symbol of the recently murdered High King Uther. If this man had such a pin, then Merlin and Garth could slip away. They would then break camp and travel through the night … despite their aching weariness.
But if the man awoke … Merlin tensed his sword arm for action.
Garth walked out, gesticulating and pointing at Merlin. His head shook wildly. The only thing he didn’t do was ruin their ambush by throwing a rock at the man.
Merlin made a face back at Garth and stepped farther sideways to peek at the dozing man’s cloak — only to have someone grab his hair tightly from behind and slide a blade across his shoulder very close to his neck.
“Toss your sword or you’re dead,” the man said.
The metal edge bit into Merlin’s skin as he felt his blood pulsing through the nearest vein.
He stiffened and dropped his blade.
“Good. Now tell your foolish friend to toss his knife in that pile of brush.”
Garth snarled at Merlin and tossed his dirk away. “Why didn’t you listen to me signals? I tried to tell you he was sneakin’ up behind.”
“Why’d you just wave your arms then?” Merlin said, looking sideways at the blade on his shoulder. It was of good quality — sharp and lethal.
Garth pointed at the hunched man. “I didn’t want to wake this guy up.”
“Lot of good that did us.”
“Enough,” the second stranger said. “Why were you sneaking up on me?”
“You mean you and your sleeping friend.”
“Only me.”
The stranger, pushing Merlin forward, approached the hooded man hunched near the fire and kicked him. He cracked and fell over, exposing a rotten, mushroom-spattered stump. A balled-up saddle blanket had sufficed for the head.
Garth snorted. “How’n did you know we were comin’?”
“Those that are quietest ask the questions. Tell me your names.”
Merlin felt suddenly cold with the blade at his neck. “I’m called Merlin … mab Owain … sworn servant of Uther.” If the warrior was loyal to the High King — and he wasn’t purely Vortigern’s man — maybe that would save their lives. Possibly even allow them to clear their names and tell the truth about Vortigern, who had slain Arthur’s father two days ago to usurp the High Kingship. Merlin, Garth, and Natalenya had been living as vagabonds, along with Uther’s ancient bard, Colvarth, in an attempt to save their lives and that of Uther’s young son and the future king, Arthur.
“Either you’re lying or you’re a fool. The High King is dead.”
The fire flared up for a moment, and Garth dropped his hood back and peered closer at the man standing in the dark behind Merlin. “Caygek … is that you?”
The blade shuddered as it pulled away from Merlin’s neck. The man let go of his hair. “By Crom’s mound,” the stranger said, “Garth … Garthwys? What are you —?”
Merlin spun, the blade now pointing straight at his chest. The man wore a blue tunic over brown breeches, and stood a little shorter than Merlin. His arms and face bore the spidery blue scars of a druid — meaning this was likely the same man who had helped Merlin save his father and the monks at the Druid Stone. Though not much older than Merlin’s eighteen winters, Caygek had a blond, curly beard that hung thick to the middle of his chest, and a head of long hair to match. But his eyes were what caught Merlin’s interest. They were red and the skin around was puffy — almost as if he’d been sick. Perhaps weeping.
Merlin backed up, almost stumbling over the rotten log and into the crackling fire. “If you mean us no harm … then you have nothing to fear from Garth or me. We thought you were following us — that you were one of Vortigern’s men.”
Caygek squinted his eyes. “I don’t follow anyone. Not anymore.”
Distant sounds of crashing, cracking, and rustling from the woods to the east made the three freeze. Soon they heard the clopping of hoofs. Merlin lunged to grab his and Garth’s blades. “The fire,” he realized. “Vortigern’s seen the smoke!”
Caygek scanned the eastern darkness, alarmed.
Merlin yanked Garth by the cloak. “Let’s go.”
Garth refused to budge. “What about Caygek?”
“He’s a druid.”
“Take him with us … He’ll be caught, an’ he knows about us.”
Caygek ran to his horse and cut the reins knotted to the tree. He hastily tried to mount the horse, but it bucked, reared, and sent him sprawling to the ground.
“There’s no time.” Merlin pulled Garth toward the hillside.
The approaching horses pounded closer.
Caygek held on to the reins as his horse wheeled around him, nearly trampling his face. He finally let go, and the horse ran off toward the south.
The shouts of approaching warriors were close.
Caygek scuttled down the hill and caught up to them, clutching his saddlebag and cloak. “I’m coming.”
Merlin called back, “Go away.”
“You’ve no choice,” Caygek said, running with them.
Merlin ran, leading the way back, and hoping they’d have time before Vortigern found their trail. Breaking through the pines to their hidden camp, Merlin stopped in time to avoid the point of Natalenya’s dirk finding its way through his tunic.
“Who are you?” she said, peering into the darkness.
“Natalenya! It’s me, Merlin … Merlin.”
She dropped the blade and wrapped her arms around him. Garth crashed through the branches and into Merlin’s back. The three of them fell.
“Very careful woodsmen the lot of you are,” Caygek said, breathing hard. “Now why’s Vortigern chasing you?”
Merlin was about to explain that Vortigern wanted to kill Arthur, who was just a child, when Colvarth stepped from the dark trees holding the very boy and a small dagger. “Who is this you have brought, Merlin? This is unex —” But his words stopped short as he and Caygek faced each other.
Merlin rolled Garth off his legs, and stood. “This is Caygek —”
The druid bowed. “Colvarth … or should I say Bledri mab Cadfan? We have not met, but I have heard much of you.”
“Are you mad to bring a follower of Mórganthu into our midst?”
“He came without my permission, and I —”
Garth stepped into the center. “I can explain …”
In the distance, the sounds of horses could still be heard.
Merlin took hold of Colvarth’s shoulders. “Vortigern! We have to leave now.”
Natalenya had already mounted, and thankfully the horses they’d taken from Vortigern two days before had been equipped with four-horn military saddles, which allowed her to ride fairly safe in a sidesaddle position. She rode up with Colvarth’s black horse.
After glancing quickly at Caygek, Colvarth shook his aged head at Merlin. He handed Arthur up to Natalenya, braced his staff, and clambered onto his horse. Within five breaths the rest of them were mounted, Caygek riding with Garth. They followed Colvarth into the darkness and away from Vortigern’s men.
Rain began to fall, and the already sodden paths became slippery. Merlin had hoped this would slow their foes as well — but they could still hear the crashing of Vortigern’s reckless men.
Merlin stirred his mount next to Colvarth, who was hunched over, scrutinizing the path ahead. While wise, Colvarth was advanced in years, and they didn’t have time to wait for him to weigh out a decision.
“May I lead?” Merlin asked.
Colvarth sat up, and his leather-wrapped harp jan
gled on his back. “We must find the main road eastward … or we will be lost.”
“That’s what they expect us to do, and that’s where most of Vortigern’s men are. They’re trying to flush us out.”
“Where then do we go? Northward and westward is only trackless woods … and then the coast … we cannot swim away.”
“King Gorlas,” Merlin whispered. “Dintaga, his fortress, is on the coast.”
Colvarth’s eyes were dark slits in the gloom. “Gorlas is no friend. Uther was going to him out of necessity … to raise more warriors for battle, but there … was no love between them. Only after Uther had scoured Kembry, and there were still not enough warriors to fully repel the Saxenow … did he consider going to Gorlas.”
“Then we use that to our advantage. We remind him that Vortigern is Uther’s man.”
Colvarth coughed. “Do not speak such of that … traitor. I am Uther’s man — his bard.”
Merlin trotted his mount in front of Colvarth. “Then persuade Gorlas to protect us.”
“That is madness, I cannot —”
Arthur began crying, and the sound echoed through the woods. Natalenya desperately tried to comfort the boy, but he would not quiet.
The sound of the pursuing horses grew louder and clearer.
Ganieda ran to Mórganthu, who knelt to catch her. “Grandpa, oh Tasgwyn.” Her tears fell freely upon his cheek, and she squeezed him tightly — all the while holding the two strange objects she had fetched from beneath the Stone in her father’s forge.
“My daughter’s daughter,” he said. His voice was like a warm bath driving off the chill that blew through the burned-out smithy. And its lilt was like her mother’s, with that wonderful Eirish accent that she loved to imitate. Grandpa held her close, though after kissing her cheek he pushed her to arm’s length with his one hand. “What have you discovered? What are these?”
Ganieda looked into his face and saw not just curiosity, but hunger. His eyes, dark and shrunken, searched desperately at the oddities hidden in her hands.
What were these things? she wondered. In her left she felt the curved smoothness of the long fang. As she thought about its sharpness, a spark of warmth filled her arm.
In the other hand she held the cold, somewhat firm ball, through which she’d seen an image of her brother. Curse him.. Stringy tendrils hung out through her fingers.
Grandfather tried to pry open those fingers.
She lashed out at him without even thinking. The fang scratched his hand. No — she had fully gashed it, and a thrill climbed up her arm. She suddenly felt taller, stronger.
Grandpa yelled and flailed his only hand backward.
She slid the orb into her bag and hid the fang under her shift. “No, Grandpa, don’t touch them again.” She had flung the language of Kernow aside and now she spoke in the druidow tongue her mother had taught her. Ah, but he would understand. He spoke it too. He was the leader of all the druidow. The most respected o’ men in all the world, ya hear?, her mother had told her during the past many years. And her grandpa had come to them but two weeks ago, bringing his Stone, now ruined, and all his druidow.
Sucking his wound, Grandpa nodded. The blood covered his teeth and dripped down onto his beard.
“Where, then,” he rasped, “is your mother? Where is my daughter?”
Ganieda’s tongue caught in her throat. She turned away and shook her head.
“What? What are you saying? Did her little infection from that armband get so bad that —?” He clucked his tongue, and took two deep, deep breaths. “Oh, to think that my lineage has come down to this,” he cried, “and in such a little time.”
Ganieda looked at him, and he was crying.
“And all because of that Merlin, that scourge upon my house, has this happened. And so you, little vengeful girl, you are all that I have left in the world. Come, then,” he said. “Come … come back to my tent in the woods. Remember the dried strawberries and smoked meat? You — you are hungry, yes?”
Her stomach was burning. The strength she felt from the fang didn’t fill that emptiness. She would go with him. Tellyk padded over to her, and she stroked his fur, climbing onto his broad back.
Grandfather’s smoldering gaze flitted to her bag — which hung from her belt over the side of the wolf — but he said nothing.
He led the way, first picking his way through the smoking debris of the smithy and then out onto the clouded and thundering moor.
CHAPTER 2
PURSUED
Merlin’s chest tightened as Arthur’s cries grew louder.
Colvarth listened to the oncoming sounds of their pursuers and looked at Merlin anxiously. “I will follow you to Gorlas,” Colvarth relented. “But we have come too far east. Keep the moon left of your back, so that we’ll head toward the coast. Hopefully to Dintaga.”
Merlin turned them away from the direction of the moon — as well as the road where Vortigern’s men lay in wait — and led them down into a valley. Arthur ceased his bawling and sucked on an oatcake.
Onward Merlin led them, through the dark fastness of the trees and toward the northern coast, but he was tired and his body ached from the jolting horse. Even when the sound of their pursuers had completely faded, Merlin kept looking backward, and Natalenya always met his gaze, urging him onward. But she leaned upon her mount like a wilted flower, clutching the mane with her free hand and holding Arthur with the other. How much longer could they go?
When the path broadened somewhat, Colvarth rode up beside Merlin. “The coast is not far,” he said. “So we must talk now of what is to come.”
“I’ve been there before,” Merlin said, “even if I couldn’t see it.”
“But have you been to Dintaga itself? Gorlas’s fortress is not like Bosventor’s. It lies on an island out in the sea, and there is only a narrow, treacherous causeway that leads to it.”
“So we’ll leave the horses behind. We’ll make it.” Merlin spurred his mount forward, but Colvarth reached out and clutched his sleeve.
“You are a like a bull,” he whispered, “who knows not where he is rushing. Long ago Gorlas was in love with Uther’s wife, but she spurned him. You may regret entering his fortress with Uther’s child.”
“But Uther brought Arthur along. It appears he was going to do that.”
“No, he was not,” Colvarth said. “He would never have entered there without his men — and never to stay.”
Merlin ducked under a looming pine branch. “Is Gorlas so dangerous?”
Colvarth chewed on this question before answering. “No, Gorlas is not a traitor … he has answered Uther’s call for men before. But Uther would not have brought his wife and children into Dintaga. Of that I am certain.”
“Isn’t Arthur the child of Igerna as well? Isn’t that in our favor?”
Colvarth shook his head. “I do not think so. It has been many years since I have seen Gorlas, but I fear his anger has not abated. He will take the news hard that Igerna has died.”
“Then we tell him the truth, that Vortigern, her own brother, had her killed.”
Colvarth shrugged his shoulders, pulled his hood up, and let his horse fall back into line.
Garth trotted up, his mount breathing heavily under the extra strain of carrying Caygek.
Despite Merlin’s anger that the druid had joined them, he was relieved they had an extra blade in case of trouble. But what went on inside Caygek’s head? Why would he put himself in danger? He’d lost his own mount, but wouldn’t he be safer to slip off alone?
Garth yawned. “Don’t mind me sayin’, but where’re we goin’?”
“To Dintaga. We’re going to ask Gorlas for refuge from Vortigern.”
Garth woke up suddenly and his eyes widened. “Dintaga?”
“Shaa … lower your voice.”
Garth gulped. “Sorry. But I didn’t know we were headed to the Kembry Sea. It’s been so long — this just fills my sail right up.”
Merlin leaned
over and mussed Garth’s hair. “Well, then, keep your sail tied down —”
“Knotted. You knot down a sail.”
“Fine, but we’re only going to the fortress.” He wished he could have a private talk about Caygek, but with the steely eyed druid sitting right there, it would have to wait.
Or so Merlin thought, until Caygek spoke up.
“Garth’s explained to me what’s happening, and I wanted you to know that despite the danger I plan on sticking with him … and so with you.”
So this druid thought he could decide by himself? Merlin’s tunic suddenly felt hot, even in the drizzle. As much as Caygek didn’t seem a bad sort like most of the other druidow, Merlin didn’t want him spending time with Garth. The boy had just escaped the clutches of the druidow, and Merlin didn’t want him becoming involved again. “Why?” Merlin asked. “Haven’t had enough punishment yet for using your Druid Stone to enchant everyone?”
Caygek blinked twice, but his expression didn’t change. “So I’m responsible for what Mórganthu does — is that it? You and your kind are all alike.”
“Look, I didn’t invite you to join us. I appreciate your help in saving my father and the monks back in Bosventor, but you’re welcome to leave.”
“And why should I? These woods aren’t yours, and as I understand it, neither is the horse I’m sitting on.”
Merlin whipped out his blade and held it at Caygek’s shoulder — only to have it flipped out of his hand by Caygek’s own sword.
The sword fell into a bush, and Merlin was forced to dismount to retrieve it.
“Those that are fastest make the decisions,” Caygek said. “And for your knowledge, I did more to oppose Mórganthu than simply help you out on the night of Beltayne.”
Garth, who’d ducked when the swords came out, found his voice. “It’s true, Merlin. Caygek actually led the group that tried to stop Mórganthu. I saw it when I was … stayin’ with the druidow.”
“A lot of good you did, then, Caygek.” Merlin retrieved his sword, sheathed it, and climbed back onto his mount. “My father’s dead.”
Caygek held his sword ready. “I saw Vortigern knock you out, so you probably don’t even know that I personally untied your father at the Stone. And my filidow freed the monks as well. If it hadn’t been for us, you would have all died and never escaped to destroy the Stone.”
Merlin's Shadow Page 2
