Merlin shut his mouth. Was this true? Having been blind at the time and incapacitated by Vortigern, he truly hadn’t seen any of this. And things had happened so fast that he’d never had time to ask his father what had occurred. Their time together was gone — like a raindrop slipping through his hand into a creek and away. He would never see his father again, because Mórganthu had killed him in the smithy during a fit of rage.
He looked to Garth for confirmation of Caygek’s story, but the boy only shrugged his shoulders.
Merlin kicked his mount forward and left them behind. All this talk was slowing them down, and he didn’t want to think about his father’s death.
They continued on for a few hours, and the trees slowly changed from oak and beech to pine. The whole time Merlin did his best to keep the moon at his back left — until Colvarth called to him.
“Hold the moon more to your left now. Soon we will come to the Camel River. As it must be swollen with all this rain, we will need to find the bridge. From there we still have a long trot to Dintaga.”
Merlin’s legs and back ached. “That far?”
“Yes, and the trees will thin. If Vortigern has suspected our direction, he may head us off by taking the road — pray, Merlin, that the bridge is clear.
“Is there no other ford?”
Colvarth tilted his head and thought. “Into the hills, to the east … how far, I don’t know, but out of our way, and Vortigern would get to Dintaga first. The best way is by the bridge and its road.”
A wolf howled somewhere off to their right.
Merlin turned and called to the group. “We must move faster.” He motioned them forward, and they clipped through the pines as fast as the horses could pick their way. Soon the ground sloped downward and they could hear the rushing of a stream. Upon coming to the water, Merlin halted the party, and surveyed the swiftness of the current. “Colvarth is right,” he called. “We have to find the bridge.”
Behind them, a wolf howled again, closer.
Merlin’s horse tensed, ready to bolt.
Eight wolves stalked from the cover of the pines.
Merlin had his sword halfway from its sheath when his horse plunged headlong into the stream. It was all he could do to hold on as the horse struggled against the current, diving and rearing. Behind him, Natalenya screamed. Merlin’s horse turned with the current now, and he was nearly thrown off into the churning water. From the corner of his eye, he saw Natalenya’s horse vault into the water. She held on past midstream, where the horse lost its footing. Down she went with Arthur into the water and disappeared.
Merlin gasped. Having grown up mostly blind, he barely knew how to swim.
Natalenya fought and kicked up to the surface, holding a gasping Arthur. She swirled toward Merlin, and the current pulled them under again.
Merlin panicked. He couldn’t lose her! They’d just become engaged two days before and had received the blessing of Natalenya’s mother.
The flexible branch of a nearby plane tree extended over the stream, and Merlin reached up and grabbed it, dove into the water, and with his free hand grabbed Natalenya’s tunic.
She spluttered to the air, and he held on tightly as the current pulled at their legs.
The thicker part of the branch cracked — and broke off the tree.
Merlin dragged the wood closer, and Natalenya gripped it, her chin shaking and her tresses soaked.
The river swept all three downstream, and finally, in a wide and calmer spot, Merlin kicked them over to the other side and they scrambled ashore. Not far downstream, their two riderless horses ascended the bank.
Natalenya sat on a rock and looked at Arthur. “He’s not breathing!”
Merlin took the child from her. He was pale, with his eyes closed. Merlin held him upside down, and water trickled, then gushed out. The child choked — and cried.
Natalenya pulled him close, warming him.
“That’s one way to learn how to swim,” Merlin said, but it wasn’t funny. He went to get the horses, wondering what had become of Colvarth, Garth, and Caygek. The horses seemed glad to be on land, and he led them back. After helping Natalenya mount her horse, they tracked upstream to where they had plunged in — but there was no sign of the others.
“We’re alone,” he said. “Not even the wolves.”
She shivered in the cold early morning air. “What’ll we do?”
“They must have stayed on the other bank and tried to outrun the wolves. They’ll make for the bridge, and we’d better too.”
Downstream, they traveled as fast as they could through a tangle of trees and vines. Farther on they located a game trail that seemed to follow the stream.
By the time the sun had risen behind the storm clouds to their left, they came across the rutted, muddy road — and their companions, riding fast.
“Put on your wings!” Colvarth yelled as they rode past. His horse’s right flank was streaked with blood.
Merlin spurred Natalenya forward and then kicked his own horse to action.
“Are the wolves behind us?” he called to Caygek, who seemed intent on not falling off behind Garth.
“A different wolf,” the druid shouted. “Vortigern.”
And sure enough, Merlin saw in the far distance, beyond a small bridge over the Camel River, men on horseback chasing them.
CHAPTER 3
DINTAGA
Merlin’s horse flew as fast as the wind, smooth galloping upon hooves of necessity. He had never ridden thus during his days of blindness, and yet now he wished their lives did not depend upon speed.
The trees thinned as they rode, lightning splitting the sky and deep thunder rolling over and over their heads. They came to a plain filled with yellow broom and followed the road until it rose over a hill. Merlin slowed and beheld — just beyond a small stream and a distant sleepy village with some dilapidated stables — the island fortress of Dintaga. Out in the Kembry Sea it sat, and he trusted that Colvarth was right about the causeway, because he could not see the path to the island from the hill.
Turning back, he was surprised to see that one lone rider had left the others far behind. Merlin kicked his horse’s sides and picked up speed.
The man would catch them before they made it to the fortress.
Merlin raced to catch Colvarth. “Give me your staff,” he yelled.
Colvarth nodded and held it out.
Merlin snatched it and fell back. Natalenya passed him, wind flying through her wet hair, and he called out to her, “Get Arthur to safety.”
She nodded and hastened her mount past the others and on toward Dintaga.
Merlin’s heart almost stopped as the man pulled even with him just past a crossroad. His mount was dark, strong, and swift, and he bore a leathern shield, oval with bronze bands. In his right hand he held a shining sword. His face was clean-shaven and grim, with long black hair. Upon his shoulders he wore a deep green cloak over a shirt of iron scales.
The sword came swinging out, but the stroke fell short.
Merlin gripped the staff tightly, glad to have a familiar weapon. Not only that, but one that could reach farther than a sword.
The man pulled his mount closer to Merlin and made a stab.
Merlin rushed forward and narrowly avoided the blade.
Lightning tore through the sky just above them, and the roar sent a shock through the air.
Merlin thrust out Colvarth’s staff and rammed the rider hard in the chest.
He and Merlin’s eyes met, and he gave Merlin a strange look. Was it because of the scars on Merlin’s face? Did the man recognize him … or was he just confused by Merlin’s choice of attack?
The warrior fell from his horse.
On Merlin rode, and sent up a prayer of thanks for God’s protection.
Ahead of him, the others dismounted near a stable, seemingly at the edge of the world with the endless sea beyond. He joined them and slipped from his horse, handing back Colvarth’s staff.
He looked down, stepped backward, and took a breath. The stairs, cut unevenly from the rock, wended downward, steep and wet. One slip and any of them might plunge to break their neck, or fall into the sea to be swept away. From the bottom of the stairs the path led to the island across a crooked finger of land.
It was their only hope of escape from Vortigern.
But the island itself rose up before Merlin like the crown of a skull wedged amongst the crashing waves. And like a war hammer smote upon the crumpled right side of this rocky head lay the high and unbroken walls of Dintaga. From its few and narrow windows, no light shone.
The last remnants of storm blew past, and a single stray lightning bolt leapt from the sky and struck the island’s summit. An old and crooked bush smoked and lit on fire. The blaze began at the roots and quickly spread until every branch was aflame. Eerie light danced over the walls of the fortress.
“Merlin, come,” Natalenya called. She and the others had already gone two flights down before he realized his delay. Caygek and Garth steadied her as she carried Arthur.
Behind him, Vortigern’s horsemen had reached the crossroad.
Taking a deep breath, Merlin dropped his feet to the first step and climbed down, fingers throttling every ledge and hold he could find, legs trembling at every movement.
Halfway, Merlin looked to the right, and there jutting out into the sea lay a shelf of rock, scarred and barren. It reached out to the island as if it, too, had once touched it and been a path, but was now sheared off. Merlin wondered if the stairs beneath his own feet might give way and fall into the sea.
Finally at the bottom, the wheeling gulls seemed to call, “Go back, go back,” but back didn’t exist. Forward he rushed even as Vortigern’s men reached the top of the stairs and began the long descent toward them.
Ahead of him the others ran, Colvarth leading with his black hood flying, harp in one hand and staff in the other. Garth and Caygek ran together, with Natalenya close behind.
She slipped and fell, turning her body to protect Arthur from the rocks.
Merlin caught up with her and helped her just as an arrow whizzed overhead.
She sucked in air, her right elbow scraped and bleeding.
A swell of water rose up and churned over the rocks, almost knocking Merlin’s feet from under him.
“The tide,” Natalenya yelled over the salty spray.
He held on to her tightly. If the water swept her away, he was going with her — but the waves fell back and they slipped forward to higher ground just as more arrows fell and shattered on the rocks behind them.
Above loomed another stair, but less severe. Upward they climbed, right and then left — dodging arrows and hiding when possible — until they came to an open portcullis through a high wall. This cut off the island from the causeway and the rest of the mainland beyond.
“Come through, come through,” Colvarth said as an arrow struck the wood of the door.
Vortigern’s men had now reached the bottom of the opposite stair, but were wise not to brave the foaming water rushing over the rocks.
Garth pulled Merlin and Natalenya through the opening, while Colvarth released the chains holding the portcullis, which slid down with a crash.
“No one guards the gate?” Merlin asked.
“There is always a sentinel on duty at Dintaga, watching,” Colvarth said. “If we had come with a large host or had looked unfriendly, he would have come and shut the gate before we had got here. It is good we were not barred.”
And there Dintaga stood — the fortress of Gorlas, king of the people of Kernow. Merlin had heard a few whispered stories of this man, but little was truly known. Although his warriors collected taxes, few could attest to having seen the king himself. A customer of Merlin’s father had been judged once by Gorlas for starting a brawl that ended in someone’s death. It was a severe judgment — if one could count the ragged scars upon the man’s back.
A mist, which had been rising from the sea, reached the island and began to cover it.
Upward they climbed as the light of the burning shrub mingled with the shrouded sunrise. To the left, far out in the sea, Merlin spied two peaks rising from the water like teeth, sharp and dark. They were there for an instant and then the mist veiled them … and all that was left in the world was the door of Dintaga, the “strangled fortress” rising above him.
Bedwir opened his eyes and took a deep breath as the jolt of being knocked from his horse wore off. His back felt bent, and his ribs hurt. Nearby, his horse roamed amongst the heather and broom, finally coming near enough that Bedwir grabbed the reins and pulled himself to a sitting position. Now his head hurt too, and just as he was trying to think.
Who had knocked him from his horse? It had been the man with the scarred face. And where had Bedwir seen him before? Ahh, it had been in Uther’s tent. Merlin, he remembered now, had given advice to Uther. Hadn’t Colvarth been there as well?
Bedwir rubbed his temples. Colvarth … now there was a mystery. Hadn’t Colvarth and Vortigern both served together for many years under Uther? And when Vortigern had told the warriors how the druidow had slain Uther, all of the warriors assumed the old man was dead as well — killed with the High King’s family. But Bedwir had just seen Colvarth riding on ahead of Merlin. How had he survived? Why would Colvarth run from Vortigern?
Oh … but there was another side to the riddle. Bedwir had spied two of them riding tandem — and the man in back had blue designs upon his arms that displayed the telltale sign of a druid. Were Merlin and Colvarth in league with the druidow? He’d heard tales that Colvarth was a former druid. Had the bard betrayed Uther? This was something Bedwir would have to puzzle over.
Three warriors rode up and surrounded him, the sweat running down their horse’s legs. “You fool — get off your rear,” Vortigern called, “before the worms eat your flesh.”
Bedwir stood, with some pain, and brushed the dirt off his breeches. “I’m sorry for not stopping them, I —”
Vortigern vaulted down, grabbed Bedwir and yanked him close. “Did you see who it was? Did they have Arthur?” His eyes were wild, and a strange hatred filled them.
Bedwir paused.
“Did you?”
“Only a druid, and … and some woman carrying Arthur.”
The warrior next to Vortigern spoke, and it was the battle chief’s son, Vortipor. “The girl — did she have long, dark hair?”
“Yes, I think so —”
“Was it Natalenya?”
The man seemed so concerned that it surprised Bedwir. Maybe the rumors of Vortipor’s planned engagement to Natalenya were true. But Bedwir had to answer truthfully. “I don’t know who it was.”
Vortigern growled and lifted Bedwir up so only his toes touched. “I saw four, maybe five. Who were the others?”
Bedwir couldn’t breathe with Vortigern’s fists shoving his tunic into his throat. And one of the man’s rings pressed sharply into his cheek. “I hit my head when I fell …” he blurted out.
“What a waste of a warrior you are.” Vortigern threw him back, and Bedwir slipped on some horse manure and fell to the grass. Vortipor and the other warrior laughed.
Another man rode up. “What do we do, my lord?” he asked. “The tide has come in and we can’t get to the fortress.”
“We wait. And when the water is gone, Gorlas will let me in.”
“Are you sure, my lord? If he is harboring the fugitives —”
Vortigern snorted. “Eh … Gorlas will let me in, you’ll see. And he doesn’t keep boats, so there’s no escape.”
Ganieda held on tightly to her wolf’s fur as Grandfather led them through the sloping, sticky pine branches. Tellyk bore her easily, his snout always sniffing the air, but Grandfather stumbled twice. Tired, she guessed. He rarely looked at her, and when he did, it was a strange glance such as a poor beggar might give.
Ahead of them, shining in the morning sun that perched over the trees, circled carrion birds. They arrived a
t the circle of stones — where Grandfather halted. All around the field lay the bodies of dead druidow, bloody and surrounded by the fresh hoof prints of the tall warriors who murdered them.
And southeast stood a new cairn. “Who’s buried there, G’andpa?” she asked.
He turned and studied her with a light in his eye. “Do you not remember? The High King, a pestilence upon his house. Judged, yes judged he was upon the Stone in revenge for your uncle’s … your uncle’s murder.” The gleam faded, and his head drooped.
“What’ll you do for the sleeping ones? I thought Belornos would take them home … won’t Belornos take mother home?” Mammu had always said the druid god would care for them.
“Soon, soon, our remnant shall come and care for them. Ten … twen … forty at most, and half of those — the foolish filidow — have left. Our numbers are few … so few. They are camped beyond these pines, and must rest before undertaking this task.” Grandpa straightened his back, and his lips quivered. “They will dig an Honor Pit, and line it with holly leaves, and rowan … and pine branches, and put the bodies within.”
“And bury them? Should we bury mother?”
“No, no — they are left to behold the Wheel of the Sun, and the Horns of the Moon. Môndargana will be happy where you have left her. And I have not the strength” — here he gasped, clutching his chest — “to see her sleeping thus … the second and last of my children to die in the breadth of a single week. May I witness the entrails of Merlin, my enemy, spilled and knotted upon the ground one day!”
Ganieda screwed up her nose. “Won’t an’mals and birds eat Mammu — and these dead ones?” For even now the crows began to descend in their black-feathered tunics to pluck and rend the bodies.
“Has your druid mother not taught you this? She had no fear of such, and none of these did either,” he said, pinching Ganieda’s chin. “It is given that their souls will pass into the animals and joyous birds, and thus they will live again, forever serving the druidow.”
Merlin's Shadow Page 3
