The Orphan King (Merlin's Immortals)
Page 6
The bells for matins began to ring. Midnight.
The promised phantom did not keep the sheriff’s men in suspense.
It appeared as if from the ground, not more than a stone’s throw from the circle of men around the gold.
Ghostly white, the phantom moved serenely toward the gallows. It was merely a full hand taller than the largest of the sheriff’s men, not four or five hands taller as the black specter had been. In the dim moonlight, it did not show arms. Nor a face. A motionless cowl covered its head.
“All saints preserve us!” screamed the voice of the first soldier.
“Advance or you’ll lose your head!” immediately countered the commander’s voice. “Move together or die in the morning!”
All eight men began to step slowly forward with swords drawn.
The deaf-and-mute girl plucked the protective wax tip off one of the darts and slipped it into the blowing tube. She lifted it to her mouth in preparation and waited, holding her breath.
The phantom stopped. It did not speak.
A cloud blotted the moon completely. The men hesitated, then gasped as an eerie glow came from within the pale body of the phantom. A few soldiers stumbled backward on the uneven ground.
“Hold, you cowards,” came the tense voice of the commander. The retreating men froze.
“A third of the gold to the one who defeats this apparition!” called someone in the pack.
The phantom held its position.
Finally, just as the cloud began to break away from the moon, one soldier rushed at the phantom. “Join me!” he shouted. “Show no fear!”
The girl drew a breath to fire the dart. She had no doubt she’d be able to hit the man squarely in the back, but she still waited. Surely Thomas had planned something; it was not going to be this easy for the sheriff’s men, was it?
But she couldn’t take the risk. She made her decision to give the sharp, hard burst of breath that would fire the tiny dart through the darkness, but just before the point of the soldier’s outstretched sword reached the outline of the phantom, a roaring explosion of white filled the soldier’s face. It etched sharply for one split heartbeat every ripple of the ground for yards in every direction.
The soldier screamed, falling sideways as his sword clattered uselessly to the ground.
Unseen, the mute-and-deaf girl turned her head and let out a breath. She gathered her darts and blowing tube and slipped away. Now was the time to return to the camp the knight had set up, before Thomas reached it and discovered she was missing. She knew she’d arrive before Thomas did, for she would not have his burden to carry. She had seen what the sheriff’s men had not.
No man had time to react. The phantom moaned as it became a giant torch of anger. Flames reached for the soldier on the ground, and he crabbed his way backward, screaming in terror.
The other soldiers huddled in a frightened knot. Each man stared wild-eyed at the flames that outlined the figure of the phantom. They whispered hurried prayers, crossing and recrossing themselves.
“A spirit from the depths of hell,” one soldier groaned. “Spreading upon us the fires that burn eternally.”
As if in response, the flames grew more intense, still clearly showing the shape of the phantom. And it said nothing.
The men stood transfixed. The last flame died abruptly, and the phantom collapsed upon itself. The men did not approach.
One soldier finally thought to glance at the gallows. The large bag of gold was missing.
William stirred as a shadow blocked his face from the early morning sun. He had not slept well—the ground was lumpy and cold, and the pickpocket had pressed hard against him to seek warmth during the night.
He blinked open his eyes at a mountain of black that filled the entire sky above him.
“Mother of saints,” he said with no emotion. “If you are not the boy Thomas, I am a dead man.”
“Your control is admirable,” breathed the specter in low, rasping tones. “It makes you a valuable man.”
With a slight grunt, William sat upright. His movement woke the pickpocket and the girl. Her hands flew to her mouth, and she bit her knuckles. The pickpocket tried to speak, but no sound came from his mouth.
“Send them down to the stream,” the cowled specter said in his horrible voice. “Our conversation will be private.”
Neither needed a second invitation to flee, and they were far from sight long before the bushes in their way had stopped quivering.
William stood and measured himself against the specter’s height. His head barely reached the black figure’s shoulders. A twisted grin crossed his face. “May I?” he asked, motioning at the flowing robe at his waist.
The specter nodded.
William pulled back the robe. He snorted exasperated disbelief. “Stilts indeed.”
Thomas leaned forward, and as the stilts fell free, hopped lightly to the ground. He peeled back the ominous cowl. Strapped to his face was a complicated arrangement of wood and reeds that looked much like a squashed duck’s bill. He loosened the straps. The piece fell into his hands, leaving deep red marks across his cheeks.
“Much better,” Thomas said in his normal voice. He rubbed his cheeks, then grinned.
In that moment, the knight saw the happy face of a little boy he remembered from a long time ago in a country far away—but quickly swore to himself not to that forget the puppy had grown and was armed with sharp teeth.
The knight shook his head and made his voice gruff to hide any admiration that might slip through. “I suppose you can equally explain the fire from your sleeve.”
Thomas pulled his sleeves free from his arms to show a long tube running from his wrist up to his armpit. “A pig’s bladder,” he explained as he raised one arm to show a small balloon of cured leather. “I squeeze”—he brought his elbow down and compressed the bag—“and it forces a fluid through this reed. I simply spark it”—he flicked something quickly with his left hand—“and the spray ignites.”
William nodded.
“Unfortunately,” Thomas mumbled, “it only works once. Then the bag needs refilling.”
“The fluid?”
Thomas shook his head. “I need to keep some secrets.”
“How did you blind those sheriff’s men?”
Thomas lifted his other arm to show a small tubular crucible of clay strapped to his left wrist. The crucible had a long, tiny neck that pointed almost like a finger.
“Another fluid,” Thomas explained. “I sweep my hand and it spews forth. It burns any flesh it touches, causing a temporary blindness on contact with the eyes.”
“Another secret, I suppose.”
Thomas shrugged. “I also have the gold. From the gallows. Is that enough proof that I was the one who saved your life?”
The knight reminded himself that he must play the role of a skeptic. He must make Thomas work to convince him. “Perhaps. Did you use more trickery?”
“Simple trickery. Shorter stilts and a white cape around me, supported inside like a tent by a framework of woven branches. The cape was waxed and oiled. I lit a candle inside, stepped back through a flap, and let it burn itself down. It was enough distraction to sneak to the gallows.”
In one sense, all of this explanation was unnecessary for the knight, who was aware that mixing common powders and fluids could lead to explosions of fire, noise, and brightness. This sort of knowledge came from a faraway land, knowledge Thomas could only have gained through what Sarah had left him. The knight had watched the midnight events himself, curious as to how Thomas might succeed. In another sense, William needed to play the role of a simple fighting man, unaware of where Thomas had gained the knowledge for his apparent sorcery.
William waited, but Thomas described nothing more of how he’d conquered the sheriff’s men, and the knight was impressed that Thomas was trying to keep some of his powers hidden from the knight. It also disturbed the knight; this was exactly what Thomas would do if the enemy had managed to
draw him to their side.
Hawkwood’s words echoed. “Play his game until you have learned as much as you can. Then end his life.”
To kill Thomas would break Hawkwood’s will to live, yet could there be any other choice if Thomas truly was among the enemy now?
All of this ran through the knight’s mind as he maintained the role of a lighthearted skeptic.
“You think you have great intelligence,” the knight observed dryly.
Thomas thought of the endless hours his mother, Sarah, had spent coaching him through games of logic, through the painful learning of spoken and written Latin and French, through the intricacies of mathematics.
“I have been taught to make the most of what is available,” he replied without pride.
The knight sprang forward with blurring swiftness, reaching behind his back and pulling from between his shoulder blades in one smooth motion a short sword.
Before Thomas could draw a breath, William pinned him to the ground, sword to his throat.
“Your confidence has made you stupid,” the knight said coldly. “Not even a fool would disarm himself in the presence of an enemy.”
Thomas stared into the knight’s eyes.
William pressed the point of the sword into soft flesh. A dot of blood welled up around the razor sharp metal. “And not even a fool would walk five miles into a desolate forest with a king’s ransom of gold and offer himself like a lamb to a man already found guilty of stealing a sacred chalice.”
Thomas did not struggle. He merely continued to stare into the knight’s eyes.
William grimaced as he pressed harder. “And lambs are meant for slaughter.”
The dot of blood beneath the blade swelled to a tiny rivulet.
“Cry you for mercy?” William shouted.
Neither gaze wavered as the two stared at each other.
William threw his sword aside. “I was afraid of this.”
He took his knees off Thomas’s chest and stood. Then he leaned forward, grabbed Thomas by the wrist, and helped him to his feet. William gravely dusted the dirt off his clothes, then from Thomas.
It was his turn to grin at Thomas. “The least you could have done was proven to be a coward. Now I have no choice.”
Thomas waited.
“In front of God,” William said, “I make this vow. For saving my life, you have my service as required. I ask of you, however, to free me as soon as possible, for I have urgent business.”
“Agreed,” Thomas said.
In the quiet of the woods, they clasped hands to seal the arrangement. Left hand over left hand, then right hand over right hand.
“Now what service do you want of me that was so important that you risked your life as first a specter, then a midnight phantom?” William asked.
Thomas let out a deep breath. “We shall conquer a kingdom,” he said. “It is known as Magnus.”
The knight expected this answer, but realized the necessity for reacting the way any other man would react.
“You have lost all sanity! An army of two men against a kingdom?”
“We have the girl and the pickpocket,” Thomas said mildly. “That doubles the size of our army.”
“And doubles the number of those who will perish. Release me from this vow. I’ll not lead you into suicide.”
“You still doubt? After witnessing how I saved you from the gallows? After knowing I defeated a band of sheriff’s men?”
“This is a kingdom. With an entire army. And worse, it is no ordinary kingdom.”
“You have heard of it then.”
“The dark legends that all in this land fear? Of course I have. The king of England himself dares not to venture to the castle of Magnus.”
“See,” Thomas said. “Already our task is easier. Once we gain it, we’ll have the gratitude of the king.”
“What would possess you to want to do this?”
Thomas set his jaw, and the knight saw a fierce light burn from Thomas’s eyes.
“I shall not share that with you,” Thomas said. “I have my reasons, and I will die before giving up on this quest. And that is enough for you to know.”
The knight could guess the reasons, of course, for if Thomas did not belong to the enemy, then Sarah had taught Thomas his destiny and what he must do to reach it. The knight was glad for the fierce light and the determination that he saw. Unless, he quickly told himself, Thomas was doing what the knight himself was doing. Acting a role. Something the knight needed patience to determine.
“No,” the knight said, continuing his own role. “I will not do this.”
“I believe,” Thomas answered, “your refusal is a matter between you and God, for didn’t you just swear a vow in front of Him?”
“Honor,” the knight muttered as he dropped his shoulders to give an appearance of resignation, “is often too highly rated.”
Thomas followed the knight up a bank. They had just crossed a stream. John had already scampered to the top.
Behind them, Thomas heard a splash. He looked back. The mute girl had fallen into the water while stepping across the round mossy stones that formed a natural bridge.
He stopped. The knight looked at him and shrugged.
Thomas moved down to the stream to help the girl, for she sat in the water with a frustrated expression on her face.
“Are you hurt?” Thomas asked.
She shook her head in lack of comprehension, completely soaked with water, then reached up with her right hand. Thomas pulled her up. Standing in front of him, she pushed her long wet hair away from her face and behind her head with both hands, then squeezed her hair free of excess water.
In that moment, with her face fully exposed and glistening, Thomas saw how amazingly beautiful she was.
She gave him a hesitant smile and reached for his hand again.
He helped her keep her balance as she finished crossing the stream. Ahead of them, the knight had reached the top of the bank, satisfied that Thomas and the mute girl were clear of the water.
That left the two of them briefly alone.
Her clothes were soaked and clung to her body, and with an involuntary glance Thomas realized she was much more than a girl. He quickly looked away to preserve her modesty.
She pulled on his hand, however, and when he looked her in the face, she kissed the tips of her fingers and touched them to his lips. She mouthed two words. Thank you.
As he struggled with new emotions that made him tremble, she walked past Thomas and up the bank.
The four of them entered a small town marked from a distance by the church steeple. A pleasant river ran through the center, a rough wooden bridge connecting the banks.
That was about all that was pleasant about the town, however. Human waste littered the streets where shop owners, who lived above their businesses, routinely emptied their chamber pots from their windows each morning. Half-starved dogs roamed, looking for any scrap of food, artfully dodging kicks from irritated passersby.
Thomas made straight for the marketplace, feeling satisfaction at the weight of the gold coins in a pouch hanging from his neck.
The town square was crowded. Thomas noted with amusement that a noblewoman was bargaining hard for a delicate flea cage, accusing the silversmith of a flaw in the intricate design. A flea cage was a small cube that held a piece of fat. It hung on a long chain from the wearer’s neck, hidden beneath clothing. As fleas moved up and down the person’s body, they would enter the cage and get stuck to the fat. At the end of the day, the wearer opened the cage and threw out the fat and the fleas.
Thomas found this amusing because she was berating the silversmith for an object that would never be seen in public once she began to wear it. The silversmith didn’t bother to argue but simply told her the price was the lowest he could offer, and he was thinking of melting it down to turn into a pendant anyway.
Thomas didn’t wait for the end of the discussion and stepped over horse droppings on his way to a farrier.
Thomas shrugged. “Something I have been planning over many months.”
“And something you obviously don’t intend to share with me?”
“We’re hungry,” Thomas said. He pointed at a woman roasting a pig by turning it slowly over glowing coals. “I’m sure the boy and the girl would like some of that.”
“Ah, so I’ve become a servant?”
“I’ll be happy to get the food. After I’ve returned.”
“We’ll wait then,” William said. Nothing in his voice betrayed how he felt about Thomas’s curt statements.
Thomas wasn’t too concerned about how the knight felt, however. This was not where he needed the knight.
Without hesitation, he continued to his destination, where he found the farrier, a burly, bearded man, beside a black horse roped to a post. The man had raised the horse’s hind foot so that the hoof faced the sky. The hoof rested on the man’s thigh, and he was pounding nails into a horseshoe.
Thomas waited until the man finished.
“Aye?” the farrier grunted.
“I’d like to buy a pair of horses,” Thomas said.
“Aye?” This time, surprise filled the man’s face, and he examined Thomas more closely, looking him up and down. “And I’d like to buy a castle, myself. Now that we’ve shared each other’s dreams, what would you really like?”
“A pair of horses,” Thomas repeated. He started to reach inside his shirt for his pouch of coins to prove he had enough gold, but someone grabbed his arm from behind.
“Ignore the dolt,” William told the farrier. “He’s been touched in the head ever since a horse kicked him as a boy.” He laughed. “It’s probably why he wants so badly to have one or two for himself. To deliver a few kicks in return.”