Merlin laughed, holding a hand to his head. “No fear. I think I've sworn off wine for the rest of my life. But come along; you're a first-class digger.”
The wizard set off with his staff and his troll companion. It was beginning to rain in earnest now, and taking some food from a pack, Welly and Heather crowded into the ruins of a little building beside the theater. Staring out into gray sheets of rain, they ate in silence, sharing tidbits alternately with Rus's right and left heads.
After a time, the rain let up, turning at last to fine mist. Bored with doing nothing, Heather walked again into the center of the theater, and Welly followed.
“What sort of theater do you suppose this was?” she asked, looking around the enclosure. “The kind they fed people to lions in?”
“Maybe,” Welly guessed. “But I bet they did real plays, too. Those ancient Romans and Greeks had a bunch of famous playwrights.”
Heather struck a theatrical pose. “ ‘Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears’!”
“That's Shakespeare.”
“I know, but that's the only old playwright I've read. ‘To be or not to be, that is the question’!”
“Bravo,” a sharp voice said behind them. “But there is no question about you being my prisoners.”
The two spun around. A rank of horsemen was standing in the misty rain beyond the rubble walls. Foremost among them was Nigel Williams, King of Glamorganshire.
“Nigel!”
“What a pleasure to meet old schoolmates again,” he said dryly.
“Eh, yes,” Welly said, recovering. “A lot's happened since Llandoylan, hasn't it?”
“Yes, it has, Frog Eyes, and I still remember our parting. Actually, I'm quite pleased to find you both. When I rode up to Brecon, I had hoped to lay my hands on only your pallid friend, a present for a certain ally of mine. Of course, I do have my scores to settle with him as well, but I'll have to leave that to her. You two, however, are all mine.”
With a gesture from Nigel, several of his warriors dismounted and stalked toward Welly and Heather. The two drew their short Eldritch swords.
Nigel snorted. “The little vermin have sprouted stings. Careful, boys, I want them alive—for now.”
In the low hills above Caerleon, Merlin stood on a bare knoll, kicking dejectedly at featureless stones.
“It's no use, Troll,” he said, more to himself than his companion. “I thought maybe here, where they had a little summerhouse … Arthur and Guenevere came here sometimes. There were always some bits of treasure about.”
He stamped his staff angrily onto the ground, ignoring the scorched hole it left. “Oh, Troll, it was so lovely here! At sunset in summer, the air was soft and warm, and there were birds in the sky and flowers in the grass, rich green grass. It's such a loss, such a horrible, senseless loss!”
“Your bowl?”
“No! No, this world—or what it was. How could people have become so filled with hate that they were willing to destroy that beautiful world? ”
The troll frowned, furrows rippling over his bald head. “Me only know this world. Not even seen much of Faerie. But Mama's seen lots; say it pretty place. Like this place once, maybe?”
Merlin smiled. “Yes, they were very much alike. But maybe it's better to know only one world. Then you don't break your heart comparing.”
“Troll's heart not broke. But stomach empty. Go back to Nice Lady and Brave Warrior? ”
“And full saddlebags? Yes, let's.”
They had almost reached the theater again when the troll, who had been eagerly scampering ahead, came slinking back, eyes wide as saucers.
“Trouble, Great Wizard. Bad men with horses catch friends. Tie up like rabbits.”
Cautious now, Merlin hurried forward. Nearing the theater, he crawled onto an old wall where he could look down into the stone-circled depression. Welly and Heather, tied hand and foot, lay on the wet grass. Beside them, the dog was totally swathed in ropes with particular attention to his muzzles. Merlin could tell from the sword slashes and bites several of the soldiers nursed that the capture had not been easy.
There were few soldiers to be seen now, but he could sense others out of sight, probably waiting to ambush him. He slid quietly off the wall, whispering for the troll to stay back.
Down in the theater, Nigel sat on a stone, cleaning his fingernails with a dagger. “Pity you wouldn't tell me where your washed-out friend's gone,” he said to his bound and gagged prisoners. “It would have saved this tiresome wait. But I expect he'll be back soon. You three dears seem so inseparable. Morgan tells me you've all taken service with that Northern upstart who calls himself King Arthur. Sounds like the sort of mangy charlatan you would take up with. Though, frankly, what you three misfits could offer anyone, I don't know.”
He got up and sauntered over to the bound dog, kicking it roughly in the ribs. “Except maybe this warhound of yours. He has possibilities; he's mean enough.”
Strolling back to the wall, he casually threw his dagger into the turf. “But to be equally frank, I can't understand what the lovely Morgan wants with that scrawny troublemaker. She gave me some song and dance about his being a dangerous wizard. Ha! The day Earl Bedwas is a dangerous wizard is the day I grow donkey ears!”
“Better get some new hats designed, then, Nigel.”
The young King spun around. His former schoolmate was standing inside the theater.
“How did you get—? Well, never mind.” He motioned down the soldiers who were scrambling to their feet. “I'll take care of you myself. I suppose you've acquired a pretty little sword like these children here?”
“I have, yes. And a few other weapons. But I think we should talk, Nigel. You, after all, are King of Glamorganshire now. And I am adviser to the King of Cumbria.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. King Arthur Pendragon riding out of legend! Just your sort of madman.”
Merlin struggled to keep his voice calm. “Regardless of your opinion of his historical claims, he does hold the kingship of Cumbria and alliances with Carlisle, Newcastle, Cheshire, and the Scots. You may find yourself dealing with him someday. And in any case, your current alliance with Morgan is most ill-advised.”
“For you, yes, since I'll be turning you over to her; but she is just the sort of powerful friend Glamorganshire needs.”
“Powerful, yes. But Morgan is nobody's friend but her own. I'm simply warning you, Nigel. Beware of her.”
“My, how I appreciate your concern.” He looked around to see the rest of his troops moving back into the theater. “But now that we've had our friendly little school reunion, it's time to get on with business. Take him, men!”
The soldiers charged forward. Swiftly Merlin brought up his staff, pointing it at his three captive friends. Their bonds suddenly writhed with life and slid off. Like snakes, the freed ropes twisted in the air, stretched out, and multiplied, until a swarm of wriggling ropes swept toward the astonished King and soldiers.
They raised their swords against them, but for every rope they hacked, two slithered down their sword arms and twisted around their bodies. The soldiers and their King yelled and struggled, but within moments they all lay on the damp grass like flies enwebbed by a spider.
Lowering his staff, Merlin walked over to the feebly struggling bodies. He looked down at Nigel, who glared at him through the web of ropes. “The day Earl Bedwas is a dangerous wizard is the day you grow donkey ears? Whatever you say, Nigel.”
He flicked his hand toward the bound King's head, and two long hairy ears sprouted up between the entwining ropes.
Welly and Heather were now on their feet, helping each other off with their gags. Heather looked at Nigel and could barely keep from laughing. “Earl, I've had enough of Caerleon. Can we leave now? People look a little odd around here.”
“I think that's a splendid idea. Welly, why don't you get our horses. I've a few details left here.”
As Welly headed in one direction, the sounds of neighing an
d thumping hooves came from another.
“Reinforcements?” Heather said in alarm.
Looking through openings in the stony banks, they saw the soldiers' horses in panicky flight away from the town. The troll bounded in through one of the gates.
“Great Wizard tie up bad men. So Troll tell horses go away.”
“Good work,” Welly said, leading in their own mounts.
As they mounted, Merlin held up his staff again. “We don't want the neighbors setting this lot free too soon.”
He swept the staff through the air around the perimeter of the theater. On four opposing banks, mist curled up, purple-red mist. It spread and thickened and began to take form—the form of four good-sized griffins. They stretched, then folded their wings along their lean lion bodies. With beaks open and tongues flicking, they fixed glowing eyes on the suddenly quiet captives.
“Let's go,” Merlin said, turning his horse toward one of the theater entrances. “Glamorganshire's a lovely place to visit, but I believe we've outstayed our welcome.”
He paused, then looked back at Nigel, who couldn't speak for the rope running between his clenched teeth. The King's donkey ears twitched angrily.
“Regardless of what you may think of us, Your Majesty, I strongly advise that you stay clear of Morgan. Alliances with her are very one-sided.”
He kicked his horse into a trot, and the three humans and one troll left the ruined theater. Rus gave his former captors a parting chorus of growls, then followed after the others, his tails wagging jauntily.
PURSUIT
They rode swiftly out of Caerleon, then stopped to consult the old maps Welly had brought.
“Those ropes were real enough, but the griffins are just illusion,” Merlin said as he examined the map's tracery of pre-Devastation roads. “A nice touch, I thought, but they'll fade. Somehow, though, I don't think we need worry about being followed.”
“Speaking of nice touches,” Heather said, “I did like those donkey ears.”
“Oh, they'll last only a month or so, but I probably shouldn't have done that. Arthur's wise old adviser deliberately humiliating the king of another shire. But Nigel's such an ass!”
Welly laughed. “Well, you can't deny he asked for it.”
After a steady ride eastward, they came at last to what once had been the estuary of the River Severn. Under a great steel bridge, it had fanned out and emptied into the Bristol Channel. But now the ocean had receded, its waters locked up in northern ice. The bridge spanned an empty valley, dry except for the now-narrow Severn, doggedly cutting its way through the ancient silt. As they followed the old road, the bridge towered above them. Five hundred years of neglect had left it rusty and twisted. The soaring cables, which had once linked the twin towers, coiled down like dead snakes, and the shattered roadway sagged toward the water.
The troll, however, was enthralled. “Ooh, look at bridge! Look at bridge!” he chanted in ecstasy. “Troll dream of bridge like that!”
“You'd have to be a mighty large troll to defend that bridge,” Merlin pointed out. “Besides, I don't think the tolls would be very good. Looks as if it's not used much.”
He headed his horse along a dirt track that cut through the old estuary to cross the diminished river on a makeshift bridge of stone and scrap metal. The troll rushed ahead and, sticking his head over the side of the bridge, shouted out several fierce-sounding phrases. Then he trotted cockily back to the others.
“Safe to cross now. Troll lead famous wizard and warriors. Nobody bother.”
After they'd crossed, Heather rode up beside Merlin. “Doesn't he have some name besides ‘Troll’?” she asked. “I mean, what would we call him if he were among a bunch of other trolls?”
“Oh, he must have a personal name. But folk of Faerie are awfully private about such things. There's a great deal of power tied up in their names. I suggest that if we ever find ourselves among a bunch of trolls, we give him a name of our own.”
Welly had ridden up beside them. “Maybe something like Clancy or Wilberforce or …”
Heather wrinkled her nose. “I think ‘Troll’ is just fine.”
Having crossed into the relative safety of Gloucester, they camped for the night and started south again early the next day. As Heather rode along, the amulet kept swinging into her thoughts. She could feel it, a cold, exciting weight against her chest. She wished she'd thought to use it when they were attacked at Caerleon. But she really didn't have any idea of how to work it. It seemed to be some kind of focuser, a conduit of power that freed her from having to go through animals. The idea made her oddly uneasy but excited as well. The countryside about them was drab and uninteresting, and each of her companions seemed wrapped in his own thoughts. She'd experiment.
Letting her horse fall slightly behind the others, she slipped the amulet from under her shirt. She thought about a focuser, focusing power the way a lens focuses light. All right. Thinking about flames, she gazed beyond the black shape in her hand to the dry, brittle-looking bushes along the roadside. For minutes of monotonous riding, she kept at it until suddenly she saw a wisp of smoke rise from one of the bushes. She turned in her saddle as they passed and saw the twigs burst into pale flame before being snuffed out by the cold breeze.
An excited thrill of achievement—and guilt. Quickly she looked ahead, but no one had seen her. She was unsure why she felt a need to keep this secret. But the cold stone clutched in her hand gave her a heady feeling of control and independence. And somehow its secrecy was part of that.
She practiced with the amulet through the day. Each time, her tie to the thing seemed to strengthen so that working it became easier. The day's ride now seemed a good deal more interesting.
But while Heather's mood improved as the day progressed, Merlin seemed to become more and more uneasy. Occasionally he stopped his horse and looked about or stood in the stirrups, head tilted as if listening to something just out of hearing. Finally Welly asked what the trouble was.
“I'm not sure. I've just a vague sense of being watched, of being followed, maybe. It's very indirect, as if the observer's either far away or cloaking itself somehow.”
Uneasily Welly scanned the gray landscape. “What do you think it is?”
“Well, there's no doubt that there are folk from Faerie about. They could be watching us out of curiosity. But somehow, I don't think it's quite that innocent.”
“Oh?”
“There's a faint whiff of Morgan about this.”
Heather shivered as if hit by a cold wind. “You think she's after us?”
Welly said, “Nigel could have sent her a message that we'd escaped.”
Merlin nodded. “He probably did. And I'm sure she wants me as a prisoner just on general principle. But for now, as long as she doesn't know what we're after, I don't think she'll interfere. She seems to be keeping some sort of tabs on us, though. Can't say I like it.”
The three rode closer together. Picking up their uneasiness, the normally far-ranging dog and troll closed ranks as well.
At the small town of Cheddar, Merlin turned them from the main road. “This route heads our way,” he explained, “and it used to be one of the loveliest in Britain. I almost hate to see what's happened to it, but surely the cliffs are undamaged.”
The ancient crumbling road narrowed as it climbed, sheer cliffs rising on either side. Before long, buttresses of stone towered above them. Looking upward, they could see jagged rocks tearing against gray sky. Mostly the rocks were bare, the elemental bones of the earth exposed in a deep raw wound. But here and there, dampness trickled out of a cliff face and ivy cascaded down in a shower of dark, wind-ruffled green.
Welly and Heather found the place stark and slightly daunting, but Merlin was enthralled. “Look, there's still some ivy, even some ferns. I'm willing to bet they don't survive here just by chance. Troll, would you say there are any folk of Faerie hereabouts?”
“Oh, yes, Great Wizard. Think so. This strong place. Me see.
” Before they could say a word, he had leaped off into the rocks and bracken.
“Shouldn't we wait for him?” Heather said as they rode on.
Merlin looked around. “He'll catch up. Beautiful as it is here, I don't think we want to linger. There is something … something wrong.”
The silence in the rocky gorge weighed down upon them as much as the glowering cliffs. Muffled clomping of horse hooves echoed and reechoed between the rock walls, but that was the only sound save the trickle of an occasional spring as it seeped out of the rock like blood through wounded skin.
With a sudden rustling and clattering, Troll appeared before them. “Great Wizard right. Plenty rock sprites here. But they not talk much. They afraid.”
“Afraid of us?” Welly said, surprised.
“No, no. Happy see Great Wizard and friends. Afraid of something else. Something coming.”
Whatever it was, the horses seemed to sense it, too, and quickened their pace on their own.
Heather slid a hand under her shirt and felt the amulet. Perhaps this would tell her something. It tingled under her touch. The longer she held it, the colder it became, yet she could learn nothing from it. Maybe she should ask Earl how to use it. The thought filled her with reluctance. This was nothing she wanted to share just yet. Perhaps if she—
A screech sawed through the air. Fearfully they looked up. A winged black shape darted through the narrow band of sky above them. It cried again, then banked sharply and headed back, joined by another. More like flying snakes than birds, they shot along the gorge. Then, with wrenching screams, they dove toward the riders.
The horses neighed in terror. Merlin's bolted off in one direction and Welly's in another. Heather's mount reared so suddenly that she was flung from its back. Lying half-stunned on the earth, she grabbed at her amulet, trying to work it against the flying things. It did nothing. One creature veered and dove directly at her. She scuttled to the shelter of a boulder just as the screaming shadow whipped by her.
Regaining some control over his horse, Merlin was working back toward Heather, filling the air with bursts of fire. But in the narrow confines of the gorge, these kept missing the dodging targets.
Tomorrow's Magic Page 30
