Camulod Chronicles Book 6 - The Sorcer part 2: Metamorphosis

by Whyte, Jack

  Behind me, the newcomer reached the top and stopped, and I could hear his heavy breathing. He was a big man , heavy set and grey bearded. I waited, out of his sight, and suddenly saw the dipping flight of the skylark for the first time since it had started singing. Below me, a large and loose knit group of men entered the valley at its northern end and began to make their way to the encampment. Then I heard metal clink and a soft grunt as the man behind me raised himself cautiously to bring his head into the V-shaped notch in the ridge, where he could peer unseen into the valley below. He was less than an arm's length from where I sat.

  "I had a dream about you last night," I said softly.

  There came a grunt of startled fear and then a breathless moment of tense, motionless terror, followed by a great "whoosh" of breath and the sound of a body sagging against the ground.

  "Merlyn, you demented whoreson! Is that you? Are you frying to kill me? What kind of sorcery is this?"

  I bent sideways and offered Derek of Ravenglass my hand, then leaned backwards and heaved him into sight, pulling him belly downward through the narrow opening where he had crouched.

  "Careful!" I warned. "It's steep, up here, but no one can see us. We're below the crest. There!"

  He sat up, breathing heavily and digging in his heels to brace himself against the slope, then set about brushing the dust and tiny pebbles from his front. That done, he removed his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow before scrubbing the helmet's leather rim with his sleeve. Only when he had replaced the helmet and mastered his breathing somewhat did he turn to me, blowing out a short, sharp breath through pursed lips.

  "Falvo and Ben told us you had been into camp, but what in the name of Lud are you doing here?"

  "I've been up here all night." I nodded towards the camp below. "Carthac's down there and I'm on my way to visit him, to end his miserable life. Didn't they tell you that, too? That's the reason I am here in Cambria. What are you doing here? You must have spent the night on the mountain, too. "

  "I did, at the bottom of the last slope, there. " His eyes swept the valley from one end to the other. "I'm here to see what's down there. What's your fancy word for it? Reconnaissance?" I said nothing, and he was silent for a few moments. "Did you really dream of me last night?" he finally asked. I smiled and shook my head, and he relaxed visibly. "Thank the gods for that, then. It terrifies me to think you might dream of me, the way you dream. What happened to your hand?"

  "What?" I had been unconsciously kneading my left hand with my right thumb, and now I glanced down to where the web between the thumb and the index finger had grown dead and grey. I stifled the instantaneous urge to snatch it away and hide it from his sight, and forced myself instead to flex the hand several times. "Oh, that, " I said. "I scalded it, last week. It's healing, but it still feels stiff and sore. "

  Derek turned his eyes away, back to the valley. "It's not much of a camp, is it?"

  "No, but it's effective enough for their purposes. It's sheltered, and it's safe. Nearly impregnable, in fact. "

  He grunted. "What's that building?"

  There was only one, a long, low construction probably built from the stones that lay everywhere down there, fallen from the cliffs above, "it's some kind of cattle shelter. Nothing else it could be, up here, is there? There's grass for grazing, but there can't be any soil down there to speak of. So it wouldn't be a house. Must be a byre. "

  "Well, they're using it as a house now. How many people are there down there, do you know?"

  I looked again, carefully, before I answered him. Apart from the one building, there were a few ramshackle huts that I could see, but they seemed to be mere piles of stones, thrown together. And against the base of the cliff on the opposite side from us there was a line of green and brown and multicoloured patches that I had guessed, after long observation the previous day, to be a row of the roughest kind of shelters, branches and saplings propped against the wall of the cliff, then covered haphazardly with blanket coverings.

  "Last night, I guessed there must be three score of them, or thereabouts. Three score in camp, I mean. I've no idea how many others are outside, defending the incoming passes. Probably as many again."

  Derek sucked air through his teeth, impatiently. "There has to be a way for us to get in there."

  "There is, but not with horses—not easily, at any rate, and not without a bitter fight. There are three ways in, and two of them might just be passable for cavalry, but not before the heights above each route have been swept clean, and that will be wicked work."

  I had spent the previous five days examining the adits to the place. The valley was high in the mountains; not prohibitively so, but it was hemmed about with steep, unscalable mountainsides that were as flat as walls. Three entrances led into it through narrow approaches flanked by high cliffs. I had discovered that fact by doing more climbing than I had thought to do, scaling the heights overlooking the passes on both sides and lying belly down for hours while I attempted to decipher the patterns of their defences. While one careful, solitary man could penetrate the places I had reached, it would have been impossible for a number of men to have achieved the same without being discovered. Pendragon mountaineers might have had a better chance, but Camulodian lowlanders would have no chance at all.

  Derek listened with a long face, chewing on his lips. I. cocked my head.

  "What's wrong, Derek? Why are you up here? You're growing long in the tooth to be leaping about on mountains on your own. I am too, God knows, but I've a reason to be here alone. I have a one man task. "

  "And so do I, almost. " He waved to indicate another hillside, to the south of us. "Ambrose is over there, with Arthur, on that hill. There are times when second hand reports are not enough. We came up here to see things for ourselves. But there's not much to see, is there?"

  "That depends what you're looking for, my friend. How high above them do you think we are? How far from here to there?"

  He made a face, reckoning. "Two hundred paces? Not much more than that, I'd guess. "

  "In fact it's closer to four hundred. But even four hundred paces, downhill like this, would put the enemy in range of Pendragon bows. " He jerked his head around to look at me as I continued speaking. "It's a difficult climb, as you know, but it's far from impossible. We two came up it, each of us alone. Where two may go, in this kind of terrain, two hundred more can follow, and with two hundred Pendragon 'up here, that camp would be a death trap.

  "Now I'm going down there, later in the day, timing my arrival so that I'll be there by nightfall, when there's little chance of my being seen descending from above. I'll spend tonight there, seeing how things work, and then tomorrow, or tomorrow night, I'll find or make an opportunity to put myself close to Carthac. Once I'm there, he's a dead man. "

  "How can you say that, Merlyn? The man's not human! They say he's enchanted, has a charmed life, protected by the very gods themselves, and he can't be killed by human weapons. "

  I looked at him, one eyebrow raised high. "That's superstitious nonsense. Surely you don't believe that, Derek?"

  He shrugged and dipped his head, looking ill at ease. "I don't know, Merlyn. But I do believe he fights like no man I have ever seen. He won't be killed with ease. "

  "I don't want him to die with ease, but die he will, if I win close to him. Now, when are you to meet again with Ambrose?"

  "Midafternoon, at the base of the mountain. "

  "Well, when you meet him, tell him I am here and warn; him what I intend to do. Then go and fetch Huw Strongarm and his bowmen—are they close by?"

  "Not Huw himself, but aye, they're here, nigh on a thousand of them, under Llewellyn. "

  "Then lead them back this way, and bid them bring as many arrows as they can carry, sufficient for a days long siege. And have Ambrose move his men up and position them outside each of the three adits to this place. Once Carthac is dead, the men below will be mere cattle. The death of their Immortal will destroy their will to fight. Te
ll; Llewellyn that when his Pendragon have wiped out this camp, he must then send them outward, to sweep clean the cliffs above the entranceways. They'll have but little opposition, I suspect. Did you bring food?" He blinked at me, then nodded. "Then let's eat, " I said, bending to take my own food from the heavy pack that lay by my feet, which contained the remainder of my much depleted supplies from the warlocks' chests as well as my long black nightclothes.

  Derek stared at the pack. "Do you intend to take that with you? Down there?"

  "Of course. It's mine, " I answered, smiling, but his face remained stern.

  "What's in it?"

  I shrugged my shoulders. 'Things, mainly extra clothing. "

  "Horse turds, I saw the weight of it when you pulled it over. There's more in there than clothing. Probably enough to get you killed, should anyone look inside it. "

  "But no one will. No one has, in the past three months. "

  "No, but then you were alone. It's too big, an invitation to thieves. Or do you intend to carry it while you're killing Carthac?"

  I could see he was right. I had intended to hide the knapsack, once safely down the hill, but the valley was small and crowded with people. He saw my indecision and spoke again.

  "Look, you're determined to go down there, I know that. If you fail to kill your man, you'll die, and there's an end of you. If you succeed, again you'll probably die, for his creatures there won't let you simply walk away. So, armed with the knowledge of the odds against you already, why would you add to all your risks by dragging this great thing behind you? I'd hate to think of you being killed solely because of your pack, before you even get the chance to kill yourself apurpose... " He paused, and I said nothing. "Let me take it with me, Merlyn, back to our camp. It will be safe enough with me. I won't open it or let anyone else open it. Then, if your god is as merciful as you Christians say he is, and you come safely out of that place down there, I'll have it waiting for you. "

  I tore a piece of bread from the half loaf I had been holding and chewed it thoughtfully for some time before I nodded my head. "So be it," I said then. 'Take it, and with it my thanks. But don't dare open it, Derek, and guard it as you would your wife or your life. Remember Merlyn's Vengeance. I swear to you that there is enough venom and poison within that pack to wipe out all of Camulod. Eat up!"

  I should not have eaten that morning. Something poisoned me—something among my rations, I guessed, most probably the dried meat. I was surprised that I had not been alerted by its smell, and blamed myself for carelessness. It was only much later that I came to suspect some inattention on my own part that might have left a minute residue of poison on my own fingers after handling the vials I carried everywhere.

  The first cramps, no more than mildly uncomfortable, hit me a few hours later, before I set off down the steep slope and while Derek was still with me. I foolishly ignored them, anticipating that they would soon fade away. Instead, they increased, both in intensity and in frequency, so that by the time I was halfway down towards the camp below I was in agony and violently sick. I could barely control my descent on the almost precipitous hillside and only narrowly escaped falling to my death when my foot slipped while I was bent over, trying not to retch. I fell forward, head over heels, unable to react in any way to stop myself. A projecting spur of rock arrested me less than two paces from a vertical drop, and I lay there clutching at the stone for a long time before I had sufficient strength to raise my head and look about me. My vision was swimming; everything slid away from me sideways when I Cried to focus. And then I dragged myself to a depression between two clumps of long, rank grass, where I lay gasping until my vision settled.

  There was not much cover available; the hillside was open and exposed to anyone who glanced up from below. Even had I been unimpaired, the progress I had planned on making would have been slow, much of it achieved by lying flat on my belly and slinking from clump to clump of grass and stones like an adder. Now, with the excruciating pains in my stomach and ribs, the roaring in my ears and the blurred vision, along with the constant retching, progress became impossible and I had no choice but to remain where I was, in the relative security of the hollow. I could see a thick clump of bushes not far below me, but to reach them, I would have to negotiate the small cliff I had almost fallen over, and I knew I could not even contemplate such a move until I had regained some control of my spasming muscles. I began to feel lightheaded, and shortly after that I broke out in a clammy sweat that soon soaked my clothing. Then it seemed to me I drifted in and out of awareness for a time.

  In the infrequent intervals of clarity I had, I would. giggle inanely, knowing that I, the great poisoner, had somehow poisoned myself. And now here I lay, on an open hillside above a crew of men who would skin me alive if they found me and knew who I was. I knew my mind was disordered by what was happening to me, and a large, sane part of me was appalled by my own mindless laughter. Then I was overtaken by a surge of nausea that left me exhausted and panting for breath, and in its aftermath, I passed out.

  I awoke some time later to the feeling of rain on my face, and I felt slightly better; well enough, in fact, to move on down the hill. But I was extremely weak and still lightheaded, and I could hear myself making too much noise as I staggered and reeled downwards. They say the ancient gods protected fools, children and drunkards; someone protected me that afternoon on all three of those grounds, for I had been a fool, I was as weak as a child, and I fell and reeled like a drunkard.

  The rain grew heavier, falling from low, heavy bellied clouds that clung as fog to the steep slopes; it was a gift to me, obscuring my movements, and I made my way down to the bottom without further mishap and without attracting attention. Once there, however; I collapsed again, my; body racked by painful, heaving spasms that produced nothing from my stomach but agony and bitter tasting bile. I could feel the sweat pouring from me and I knew I was running a fever.

  When next I became aware, it was dark, the rain had stopped, and I could hear voices not far from where I lay I had no knowledge of where I actually was, in relationship to the point where I had intended to arrive, and I thought! the voices were Celtic, but in my intermittent moments of clear headedness I thought I might merely have dreamed of understanding them. I had visions of huge, blond haired, axe carrying Danes with bullhorns on their helmets, conversing fluently with me in my own tongue, and I knew I was raving. I also knew that I was cold, and as though detached from my own body, I pictured myself emerging from the bushes that screened me, to crawl forward on all] fours towards the beckoning light of the fires that I knew must be burning close by, where I would beg, in suicidal Latin, to be allowed to warm myself and sleep. Instead, I hugged myself more tightly, shivering and shuddering, and eventually I must have fallen asleep.

  I knew nothing more until someone prodded me with an ungentle toe. My eyes snapped open to daylight and I was face down in a clump of long, rough grass, fully aware and knowing I had been discovered. I cursed and tried to scramble to my feet, but snatching fingers grasped my hair, pulling my head back and baring my neck. I felt a knee against my side, and I was heaved backwards and flipped over to land on a sharp pointed stone that smashed between my shoulders. I saw an unkempt form leaning above me with a dagger poised to strike, and I closed my eyes, knowing there was nothing I could do to save myself. And then I heard my name, uttered in a gasp of stunned surprise. Moments later I felt myself grasped beneath the shoulders, and then I was being dragged. When the movement stopped, I felt myself being raised to a sitting position, my back against a tree or a stone, and soon I became aware of someone crouching close to me.

  I opened my eyes and recognized Turoc the ploughman, a Christian Celt from Cornwall who had come to Camulod the year I brought Cassandra home. He was one of the eight spies I had dispatched personally, months earlier, to penetrate Cornwall and discover what was happening with Ironhair. Now he kneeled in front of me, peering anxiously into my face. I managed to say his name and his eyes widened with
relief.

  "Merlyn, in God's name what are you doing here? I almost killed you. My dagger was on its way down when I recognized you. What's wrong with you, and why are you here? You're a dead man if anyone else sees you. "

  "Sick, " I whispered. "Poisoned. Ate something bad, yesterday. "

  "Shit! Can you walk?"

  I shook my head. "Don't know, Turoc. I don't think so. I'm fevered. "

  He sat up straighter and looked all around, barking a short, sharp grunt that was almost a cough. "Well, there's nobody around. " He glanced back down at me. "You're frozen and your clothes are soaked. I'd better get something: for you to wear and see if I can find something hot for you to eat. That'll be a miracle, but there might be something left of last night's stew, even if it's no more than a cup of broth. Wait you here and don't move. No one will see you if you stay just where you are. If I can find some food, I'll have to heat it over a fire, so I may be gone for a while. Meanwhile, let's get you out of those wet clothes and wrap; you in this."

  He loosened the voluminous cloak he wore over his shoulders, then moved quickly to strip off my clothes before wrapping me in the cloak.

  "At least it's dry," he grunted. "Nothing I can do about the smell of it." It smelled wonderful: dry and warm and filled with the tang of woodsmoke. He was wrapping my own clothing in a bundle, using my tunic as a bag. "I'll spread these by the fire in my own spot. I've been here for more than a month, so that gives me a certain privilege. I've! managed to clear a space of my own. Now wait here and be still. I'll be back as soon as I can."